


The Curse-Breaker

by dulcedinem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Pansy Parkinson, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Femslash, HP femslash, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione is ~logical, I promised there wouldn't be angst, Pansy is a cool curse-breaker, but unsurprisingly, there is angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulcedinem/pseuds/dulcedinem
Summary: A fic in which Hermione is a little over-caffeinated and working with more Slytherins than she'd like.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 40
Kudos: 240





	1. The Leaves

Hermione quickly checked that all her curls were tucked into her bun and smoothed down her blouse before knocking promptly. Parvati Patil was on the other side of the heavy door, tired but sharp eyes meeting Hermione’s.

“Hermione, hi, I didn’t think you’d come,” Parvati smiled tightly, stepping aside to let Hermione squeeze past her. Hermione stepped into her home, deciding immediately to forgo reaching in for a polite hug. 

“Right, sorry about cancelling the other day Parvati,” she trilled, “but you know, the Ministry doesn’t wait…” Hermione laughed nervously, Parvati joining her out of feigned politeness. 

“Of course,” she nodded, gesturing for Hermione to follow her inside.

“But really,” Hermione continued, allowing her nervous energy to fill the silence, “thank you for accommodating my schedule.” 

Truthfully, Hermione didn’t want to come. She didn’t want to be stepping into Parvati’s kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon, about to get a tea leaf reading from her. But Ginny had insisted—had actually bought her an hour divination session with Parvati for her damn birthday. Ginny was all about those ‘paperless’ gifts these days. Something about experiences over things. Hermione scoffed under her breath, remembering Ginny’s gleeful grin when she told her what her present was. At least Ginny couldn’t accuse of her not trying. Though she had managed to cancel at least three times, two of them for legitimate reasons, here she was. Maybe it would give her enough of a break until Ginny’s gift next year, though she wouldn’t put it past her to book her an hour of swimming lessons with the Merpeople in the Great Lake. 

“Coffee?” Parvati called over her shoulder, hair pulled back in a soft plait. Hermione stared at her hair a second too long. Wasn’t she supposed to be drinking tea?

“Erm, no thanks,” she said before pausing, “actually, yes, coffee would be great.”

With Parvati’s back turned, it gave her a moment to take in her flat. It was nicely decorated, as she expected. She realized she couldn’t remember the last time she saw Parvati. Maybe at that thing Dean Thomas had hosted a few years ago, some charity thing or other?

“Nice place,” Hermione finally commented, settling down in front of a circular table in the corner of the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Parvati smiled over her shoulder, “Padma helped a bit with decorating.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked, “and she’s still working as a…?”

“Curse-breaker,” Parvati supplied, “with Bill Weasley.” 

Hermione hummed in response, an imagine of Bill and Fleur together last Christmas flashing across her mind, Victoire grinning up at her, little Dominique in her mother’s arms. A wave of familiar nostalgia flooded her and she shook her head, blinking back the unexpected emotion. 

“Sounds really lovely,” Hermione murmured, and Parvati glanced back at her.

“I suppose, yeah. She seems to enjoy it,” Parvati added.

“Mm,” Hermione nodded, “that’s good.” 

Right – Padma. That’s what they were talking about.

Parvati finally joined her at the table, two delicate teacups in hand. Hermione eyed them, the porcelain so thin it was opaque. 

“I’ll admit I haven’t had my tea leaves read since school,” she said.

“Tessomancy,” Parvati replied softly, “the practice is called Tessomancy.”

Hermione nodded in mild interest. She knew that. At least, it sort of sounded familiar. She thought she was doing a decent job at keeping her skepticism at bay, but she felt like her disbelief was hanging off of her like a coat.

“And you practice it fairly often?” Hermione asked.

“Daily,” Parvati confirmed. “I’m actually co-authoring a new book with Dr. Vablatsky on it.”

“That’s really great,” Hermione said. She was unable to garner up any more enthusiasm, but she was genuinely happy for Parvati. Though she had thought little of _Unfogging the Future_ , Parvati did strike her as a more nuanced practitioner. 

“You know, Hermione,” Parvati sighed, “there’s a lot that going into the reading of leaves. The history of the tea itself is largely a story of violence and colonialism. And tea-leaf reading is one of the oldest forms of divine magic. I know unstructured magic has always made you uncomfortable, but it’s fairly direct once you understand it.”

Hermione opened her mouth, feeling her jaw click. “Of course,” she quickly agreed, “no, I mean, of course. I…really respect what you do.”

Parvati didn’t lift her head this time when she nodded, instead gently stirring the tea with a silver spoon. “I’m glad,” she said. 

“Now, here.” Carefully, Parvati handed over the teacup, balanced precariously on its saucer. “Drink it all but leave a teaspoon in the bottom. Let the leaves touch your lip if you can.”

Hermione quietly took the cup, feeling heat at the tops of her cheeks. Was she that transparent? Her eyes flicked up again as the lights in the kitchen slowly dimmed, bathing them in only a soft glow from the nearby window. 

“Try to clear your mind, Hermione,” Parvati instructed, her voice low and soothing. Hermione had the urge to roll her eyes. She hadn’t had a clear mind in years. 

She stared into the cup as the swirling leaves eventually slowed. The tea was hot in her throat, and she had to stop herself from coughing. But it tasted light and sweet on her tongue and she wondered absently if Parvati sold the blend as well.

“Good,” Parvati continued, “now take the handle of the cup—left hand, please, and carefully swirl the leaves counter-clockwise.” 

Hermione did as she was told, watching as a few leaves clung to the side of the cup while others filtered to the bottom. 

“Now, very gently, invert the cup on the saucer,” Parvati demonstrated with her hands, and Hermione quickly followed, “and just give it a minute.”

“Try to think of your intentions for the leaves, bring forward the questions you have,” she continued, and Hermione tried to stifle her yawn. 

But no questions came to mind. Well, other than how much longer this was going to take. Otherwise, she was generally happy with her job. Her friends were all doing alright. Ron still managed to drag her to pub nights as often as he could. Her love life—well, it was fine. She dated here and there. Ginny had managed to set her up with an unending row of both men and women, and some of them had stayed in her life for a few weeks, sometimes even a bit longer. But no one had stuck. None of them really excited her.

“Alright,” Parvati’s voice cut through her daydream, “flip the cup back over—yes, just like that—and set it down on the saucer. Perfect.” 

Parvati’s hands removed the cup from in front of Hermione and put it back down on her side of the table. Hermione watched as Parvati gazed down into her cup, slowly rotating it in a painstaking manner. 

“A bridge,” Parvati announced, half-moon nails directing Hermione’s line of sight to a small collection of leaves halfway up the cup. “A good omen, a positive journey sometime soon in your future.” 

Hermione stared, positive she saw nothing more than a jumble of leaves. 

“An arrow, here at the very bottom,” Parvati continued, “meaning unpleasantness in your distant future. But do you see the sail above it? Change is coming in your life – the potential for great things, but you need to initiate the change.”

Hermione leaned closer. She could sort of see it, but she was distracted by larger gatherings of dark leaves around the sides of the cup, almost in a pattern.

“What’re these?” she asked. 

“Flowers,” Parvati concluded. “Perhaps pansies. A symbol of understanding. See the small circle in the corner, just there? It’s connected to the chain of flowers.”

“What’s that mean?” Hermione looked up, catching the glint in Parvati’s eyes and the way she tried to mask her smile.

“It’s a good symbol,” she supplied. “What questions did you ask the leaves?”

“Erm, I’m not sure I asked much of a question, it was more of a…suggestion? I was thinking about my friends, I suppose,” Hermione tried. 

Parvati sucked her lips between her teeth, not meeting Hermione’s stare.

“A positive sign, indeed,” she murmured.

“Don’t they look more like marigolds?” Hermione asked.

“No, I’m fairly certain they’re pansies,” Parvati replied. “Flowers in the middle of the cup generally point to pleasure and joy. With the chain, and the arrow and sail, you have an interesting year ahead of you.”

“Oh, well, that’s…great,” Hermione managed. She was struggling to sit still now. She was meeting Ginny soon at the shop the road and she was suddenly eager to leave. The reading could have been worse, she reckoned. At least Parvati didn’t see a bat or some dark omen in her cup this time. She could handle a few flowers and an arrow. 

“Did you want to know more?” Parvati asked.

“Mm, I think you’ve given me some really great things to think about,” Hermione said. “Perhaps we should move on to the next bit?”

Parvati’s eyes flashed in response before she began to clear the table.

-

Her lunch hour was swallowed whole by her visit to Parvati’s and subsequent quick meeting with Ginny. She was still clutching a paper cup in her hands as she pushed her way into the Auror Department, coffee spilling down her wrist.

“Busy afternoon, Granger?” Draco grinned as she dropped her bag onto the desk across from him and attempted to push her hair from her face.

“You’re getting coffee in your hair, love,” he pointed out.

“No, I know,” Hermione grumbled. 

“The Weaslette got you all hot and bothered after your coffee date?” he asked.

“Draco, I will still literally blast your ears off if you start with that again. She’s a sister. Don’t be daft.”

There was a pause where Draco rolled his eyes and picked up his quill again. Hermione did the same, doing her best to shoot Draco annoyed glares. 

“You really should cut back on the caffeine though,” he added. 

It had been six months of this. Six months of sitting across from Draco Malfoy in what could only be described as an upscale cubicle. Working in the Investigations Department hadn’t exactly been her dream position, especially after leaving her comfortable role at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but Kingsley subtly hinted she should get experience in the department before trying for deputy head in the next few years. Lateral movement with an upward trajectory, as he called it. 

Even so, she could admit that Draco had grown on her. Though only a little. He was still mostly a prat, just taller and with better hair than before. He had spent enough years apologising for his crimes and somehow wormed his way into a nice job at the Ministry. Harry said he was ‘reformed.’ Kingsley agreed that it looked good for the Ministry moving forward. 

“What’s this?” Draco asked, hand quickly closing down on her bagged scone.

“That’s my lunch,” Hermione said, swatting at his wrist.

“What, you’re gone a whole hour and you can’t even manage to finish a scone? You two really were snogging, weren’t you?”

“You know, Draco, you don’t have to be awful all the time,” she sighed.

“Oh, come off it, Granger. Think of the fun we have,” he sniffed.

Hermione stared down at her crumbling scone. The memory of cracking Draco’s nose flashed into her mind and she smiled to herself. 

“Don’t get sentimental on me,” Draco said, snapping his fingers to get her attention. “Potter called a meeting in a few minutes and I can’t wait to see what poor new recruits he’s managed to wrangle.”

Frustrated, Hermione waved him away. She had a mountain of paperwork to get to and stopping for another one of Harry’s meetings was hardly productive. It seemed like he hosted them almost daily. But she knew he was tired, working himself past exhaustion. Robards had announced his upcoming retirement only weeks ago and Harry was slowly transiting himself to take over. 

“Have you seen him today? How’d he look?” she asked, forever worried about him. 

“Awful,” Draco sighed. “Wait till you see his trousers. Wrinkled beyond recognition.”

Hermione couldn’t help the smile that pulled on her lips. “Mm, I don’t spend much time staring at Harry’s trousers, but good to know you’ve got that covered.” 

“Don’t be daft, Granger,” Draco balked, tossing her words back at her.

The meeting was terribly dull. Hermione made a half-hearted attempt to seem interested as first Robards went over their goals for the week and then Harry moved on to discuss the process for bringing in new trainees and who each would be assigned with. These meetings rarely concerned her anyways. The Investigative Department was just her, Draco, and Nancy—‘Nance’ as Draco insisted on calling her. She had been a few years ahead of them in school. Ravenclaw maybe. Lucky enough to get her own desk. 

Hermione shifted her attention back to Harry as he read out the names of those entering training. “And,” Harry announced, shifting on his feet, an uneasy smile on his face, “we’re also welcoming a new fully-fledged member to the team.”

Hermione sat up. She shot a glance towards Draco, noting he was paying close attention. Trainees, yes, but another auror hadn’t joined the department in well over two years. 

“She’ll be working closely with me to ensure she integrates well into the team these coming weeks. We’re really excited to have her. I’m sure a few of you will already be familiar with her. Pansy Parkinson is coming to us from Gringotts, actually. She’s a former curse-breaker and was trained by Bill Weasley…”

The rest of Harry’s words muddled together as Hermione felt the heat leave her face. Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson. The one she thankfully hadn’t set eyes on for what – almost seven years? Hermione distantly heard Harry wrap up the meeting and the sound of her colleagues shuffling back to their desks. She pushed herself to her feet, unaware of Draco’s curious stare, and rushed after Harry into his office.

“Pansy Parkinson?” she asked, hand still on the back of his door. “The Slytherin one? With the upturned nose? Bit of a bully? _That_ Parkinson, Harry?” The words tumbled from her as Harry scrubbed at his face.

“Shit, I forgot to tell you,” he muttered. 

Hermione didn’t wait for an invite before dropping into the chair before his desk. 

“Harry,” she tried to reason, “surely, I mean, you can’t be serious.”

“I meant to tell you the other night at Ron’s.” Harry continued talking into his hands and her gaze flicked down. His trousers really were terribly wrinkled.

“Listen, Hermione, I know it looks bad. But we need a curse-breaker here. Gringotts doesn’t like lending out employees, and Pansy is the best they have besides Bill. He almost jinxed me when he found out I was recruiting her.”

“You recruited her,” Hermione repeated, needing a minute.

“Yeah,” Harry admitted, having the wherewithal to look sheepish before his tone changed. “But you know as well as I do that she’s not the girl she was in school.”

“Harry, listen to me,” Hermione pressed the pads of her fingers to her forehead, trying to ward off the inevitable headache. “I don’t want to work with her. I absolutely—I will _not_ work with that woman.”

“She’ll stay out of your hair,” Harry said. He reached across his desk, pulling her hand into his. “I’m sorry, alright? If there was anyone else who could’ve done the job, I would’ve hired them. Draco vouched for her though, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” Hermione gritted through her teeth. 

“And she was reluctant to take the job,” Harry added.

“So, she’s a martyr now? Hardly, Harry.” Hermione bit back a laugh.

“I know, I know,” Harry groaned.

Hermione felt herself soften. She hadn’t seen circles this dark around Harry’s eyes in years. Stubble flecked his jaw and his hair showed the telltale sign of having anxious hands run through it every so often. 

“I’ll be civil, alright?” Hermione smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “And you’ll let me know if I can help you at all. Deal?”

Harry nodded in thanks before pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

“Deal.”

-

Draco was waiting for her back at their shared space. Crouched, almost. She could practically feel him pouncing on her as she approached.

“On with it,” Hermione said, hating herself for encouraging him but wanting his antics over with as quick as possible.

“Oh, don’t be cross,” Draco said. 

“You knew,” she stated, voice level. 

“Of course I knew, Granger. Unlike you, I keep my ear to the ground around here.”

“I’m not bothered by it,” she announced. 

Draco’s brow raised slightly.

“Fine, but the vein in your forehead says otherwise,” he pointed out.

“Lovely,” Hermione laughed bitterly, “Draco, you’re truly a—”

“A what? A devoted colleague? A beloved friend?” he interrupted.

“Merlin’s sake,” she sighed, “can’t wait to get absolutely torn apart by the both of you now.”

“Granger,” Draco said, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “you know…you know it’s all in good fun, don’t you?”

“Don’t get soft on me,” Hermione warned. She could handle Draco most of the time, but she couldn’t handle contrite Draco. It didn’t suit him. It made his mouth turn down in an odd way and it made her chest tighten. She wouldn’t have it.

“Well…I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said, mostly to get him to stop looking at her like that.

“She’s changed,” Draco suggested. Hermione snorted.

“What, did she fix her nose?”

Draco gasped.

“Hermione Nance Granger, I’m scandalised. I’d say I’m rubbing off on you if I didn’t already know a nasty witch was hiding under all that hair.”

“It’s ‘Jean,’” she corrected. “Don’t bring Nancy into this.”

“Do you need me?” Nancy called across the room.

“No, Nance,” Draco shouted back, “Granger is just finally coming into her own.”

-

“And then,” Hermione laughed in disbelief, “he just says he forgot to tell me!”

“You said yourself he’s been a little rundown lately,” Ginny tried, sitting cross-legged on the couch still in her Harpies’ gear. Her fork clanged against the side of her bowl as she gestured. 

They were at Ginny’s place. It was arguably the coziest of her friends’ flats, and the de facto gathering place. Hermione had considered moving in a number of times but figured living in the flat next-door was close enough. Plus, this way Ron dug through Ginny’s pantry and not hers. 

“But don’t you think this is different?” Hermione asked, waving a spoonful of rice at her.

“I’m sure he meant to,” Luna added from her place on the floor. She was sprawled out on the wool rug beneath them, dark-blonde curls fanned across the criss-crossing design of dark reds. 

Ginny’s leg slipped from the couch and Luna’s hand floated over to rest easily on top of it. 

“Where is he, anyways?” Ginny asked.

“Robards is keeping him late. He said not to wait up.” Hermione shrugged. “I’m not trying to question his judgement here, it’s just…it’s an odd choice.”

“Oi, Gin, where’d you put the pakoras?” Ron shouted from the kitchen.

“Ron!” Hermione shouted back, “if you’re not offering direct advice on my impending crisis, zip it.”

A loud and resounding meow was the only reply.

“And don’t give anything to Crookshanks!”

Ron’s scoff could be heard from the kitchen. “As if I’d give anything to the ancient cat.”

“Still,” Hermione countered.

“I dunno, Hermione,” Ron finally popped his head out of the kitchen, ready for an actual discussion, “could be fine. Unless Harry really has lost it, in which case, best of luck.”

“Remember when she paraded around in the ‘Potter Stinks’ buttons?” Hermione added.

“I’m on your side here,” he protested. “‘Bugger the lot of them,’ and all that. But you somehow manage to not jinx Malfoy every day.”

Hermione grumbled to herself. That was mostly true. 

“And!” Hermione suddenly remembered, “she laughed at me when Draco spelled my teeth past my chin.”

“Gods, I still can’t believe you work beside him,” Ron said.

“Didn’t you get her with an antler jinx in fifth year?” Ginny pointed out, laughing. “That was one of Fred’s specialities that he passed on to you.” 

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Hermione grinned in return. 

“She was nice the last time I saw her,” Luna added quietly. 

The four of them paused, a knowing silence filling the room. Hermione watched as Ginny reached down and grazed her hand over Luna’s cheek tenderly. She felt a twist in her gut. She knew the last time Luna had seen Pansy. She was there, after all.

-

Pansy Parkinson was not in the office on Wednesday morning. Hermione felt her body physically relax as she quickly scanned the office, jumping only at Draco’s quiet, ‘getting antsy, Granger?’

She was, however, there on Thursday morning. Hermione was only halfway through her flat white (always taken with a little too much milk, according to Ginny) when she saw her. Harry was standing next to her, his robes miraculously unwrinkled. Hermione blinked twice before taking a hard left to her desk. She wasn’t avoiding her per se, just prolonging the inevitable. 

“Morning, love,” Draco cooed. “That for me?” 

“Funny,” Hermione deadpanned. Same joke, every morning. 

Within twenty minutes of her arrival, it became clear to Hermione that Harry was steering Pansy around the office and introducing her to each auror. She was already in her auror robes and everything. They were getting dangerously close to Hermione’s desk. She wiped her palms against her robes. 

She was being ridiculous, she knew it. Pansy Parkinson held no sway over her anymore. 

“Hermione,” Harry called.

She turned, slowly – not getting up from her desk. That is, until Pansy Parkinson reached out her hand, and Hermione reluctantly stood to shake it. 

“Good to see you again, Granger,” Pansy said. Her voice was cool, professional. Her hand was remarkably soft. Hermione stared at her hair briefly before nodding and returning the empty sentiment. Parkinson was taller than she remembered. Begrudgingly, she admitted to herself that the nose suited her now. 

She stepped back and watched as Draco stood gracefully and pulled Pansy into a quick hug. She suspected they were still close. Between Draco’s endless teasing, she had detected a level of affection when he spoke of Pansy. Draco had his hands on her upper arms, welcoming her to the department. Hermione allowed herself a moment to study Pansy. Her blunt black hair ended halfway down her neck, framing a face that looked polite but permanently bored. Her eyes were green like Harry’s, less bright but no less startling. And she suited the robes well, damn her.

Shockingly, Draco said little to her for the rest of the day. She wondered if he could sense her apprehension and decided silence was the best course. As it was, she was acutely aware of Pansy’s presence in the office. While the Investigations Department technically had their own room, the double doors were always open, ensuring they were still part of the bustle of the Auror offices. It meant that she sometimes heard Pansy’s easy laugh across the room. She sounded relaxed, as if she had been working here for years. Hermione buried her nose further into her work, distracting herself with tracing the last known whereabouts of Antonin Dolohov.

-

Hermione slipped into a familiar dream that night. She recognized it right away. 

The sense of loneliness and foreboding slid over her as her feet struggled to push through sand. Shell Cottage materialized, and Harry is screaming distantly from behind. She’s holding her arm out, squeezing the area below her elbow to staunch the bleeding. The screaming is coming from the house now, and Fleur is pulling her into the narrow hallway. She falls to her knees and looks up. The scent of sea lavender drifts past her. The bottom of the stairs comes into view from the sitting room. Fleur is doing something to her arm, wand pressed warm against her skin, and Hermione struggles to make sense of what she’s seeing. Pansy Parkinson is sitting tucked on the second-to-last stair, her eyes wide.

-

It took longer to fall back asleep after she woke in the middle of the night. Hermione breathed steadily into the quiet of her own bedroom and focused on the weight of the quilt against her. Still half-hazy with sleep, she considered dragging herself over to Ginny’s and asking to sleep on her couch. But she would be alright. She’d had this dream before – had worse ones over the course of the past few years. She just needed to get a handle on her thoughts and listen for the ragged and faint snores of Crookshanks from beside her before she drifted back to sleep again.


	2. The Leaky

An entire week passed quickly, and the next Friday crept up on Hermione. She felt like Harry’s exhaustion was rubbing off on her. Draco had called her ‘bleary-eyed’ at least twice before it was even noon. More than anything, she was missing her former work. Advocating for house-elves and writing new policies had felt useful, hopeful even. The Investigations Department was disheartening work at best. Staring at information about Dolohov felt terribly mundane, until it didn’t. Unexpectedly, she’d blink, and a streak of purple flame would appear on the backs of her eyelids. Draco watched her with pursed lips as she reached for her side, feeling for the meandering scar that fit between her fourth and fifth anterior ribs. 

As for the situation with Pansy was—well, could she call it a situation? Pansy continued to exist in her peripheral. Hermione sensed her hovering nearby at her desk, Harry close with a chair dragged over to the side. Draco wandered over to talk to them throughout the day and Hermione found herself snapping at him more than usual. But by all accounts, Pansy was doing her best to pretend Hermione didn’t exist. 

She frowned at them, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ held between her hands. Ink smeared the pads of her thumbs as her gaze flicked back and forth from the article she was reading to Pansy and Harry chatting.

“Anything good in the paper today?” Draco asked as he stifled a yawn.

“No.”

“Really?” Draco hummed, “You’ve been staring at page three for over twenty minutes. Are you yearning over another portrait of Dean Thomas hosting one of his ghastly events?”

“Draco,” Hermione tried to lay the paper down quickly, “I’ll have you know that Dean has hosted a number of important gatherings, one even for the rights of—”

“Give it here, Granger,” Draco interrupted, suddenly on his feet.

Hermione tried to jerk the paper back at the same time Draco’s fingers managed to snap at the edge of the page, tugging it towards him just enough to glimpse what was holding her attention. His eyes widened.

“A write-up about our very own Pansy?” 

“I didn’t even see that!” Hermione hissed. But she had. She had re-read the small column on the right side of the paper countless times, reading through scarce details of Pansy’s work at Gringotts and her subsequent move to the Ministry. 

“Let me see,” Draco laughed, “I’ll give it right back, I swear. I just want to show her. Pansy!” Draco turned and waved, catching Pansy’s attention.

Hermione and Draco locked eyes. Pansy was finishing up her conversation with Harry and started to walk over. Hermione moved first. She dove, snatching back page three from Draco’s grasp while Draco almost heaved his whole body across the desk. They scrambled in silence for a second before Hermione managed to crumple the paper in her fist and stuff it under her chair.

“Alright, Draco?” Pansy asked, a concerned stare darting between the pair half-entangled on their desks.

“Just wondering about lunch,” Draco managed. 

Hermione dreamt up a hundred hexes for him.

“I’m good to leave soon.” Pansy checked the iron clock hanging on the back wall of the office.

“Excellent!” Having recovered quickly, Draco shot her a grin. “Granger here was just telling me about her favourite little shop down the road. Hilltop, was it?” He slid a glance back towards Hermione. “Funniest little name, really, it’s on the flattest road around here. Oh! And Granger has agreed to accompany us.”

Hermione felt her cheeks burn. She cautioned a look and found Pansy staring at her. She looked surprised, and Hermione felt her searching her face. She stared back, as if pinned under her gaze. 

“Great,” Pansy announced. “See you in thirty.”

Her and Draco watched Pansy leave in silence, waiting until she was a comfortable distance away.

Hermione leaned forward, seething. “You’re bloody mad, Malfoy.” 

“What?” Draco scoffed, “You said yourself their toasties are unmatched. You’re there almost daily with one of the Weasels, you might as well join us. Don’t you remember how nice that time was when we got coffee together somewhere on Wellington?”

“No, we ran into each other. You said I looked like a wet mop.”

“Well, it was raining that day.”

“For Merlin’s sake—what’re you playing at?” Hermione said.

“Nothing!” Draco’s hands flew into the air. “Nothing at all, really. But judging by the paper currently stuffed under your desk, you’re curious about your new colleague. Might as well see it firsthand.”

“I’m not going,” she decided.

“Right,” Draco brushed at his sleeve casually, “but it’ll look even more odd if you back out now.”

He had her, and he knew it. Draco shrugged and leaned back in his chair as Hermione ran her tongue over her teeth. Instinctively, she reached up to her hair. It was pulled into another haphazard bun. She had meant to put it into a few plaits the night before, but never had.

“You look very snoggable, Granger, don’t worry,” Draco added.

“You’re seconds away from a silencing charm,” she fumed.

She glared daggers at him for another minute while he pointedly ignored her stares. 

-

Forty minutes later found the three of them sitting around a small table at Hilltop. It had magical owners and a mild enough muggle repelling ward that only the occasional lost Londoner ever found their way inside. Since starting at the Ministry, it had been one of those places for Hermione. The type where she found comfort, where she could meet Harry, Ginny, Ron, or even Luna on a rainy afternoon and sink into the cozy—albeit lumpy—chairs. The owner, Helen, always kept the hanging baskets out front fresh. From the black awning came trailing petunias, fuchsias, and lobelias tucked amongst begonias and geraniums. She loved the place—loved the big lattice windows, the old brick, the rows of baked goods.

“So,” Draco started, crossing his legs casually, “Pansy, you must have worked with a Patil sister at Gringotts. Granger saw one of them the other day for a reading. Isn’t that interesting?”

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. Draco knew exactly what sister Pansy worked with and certainly knew which sister Hermione had seen days before. 

“You went to see Parvati?” Pansy asked. It was the first time Pansy had really looked at her since they left the office. Her gaze was cool—unreadable. Hermione thought the pair of Slytherins seemed out of place here, their long legs crowded into old armchairs.

“Erm, I did.” Hermione gripped her mug a little tighter to her chest. Draco was staring at her, his eyes catching the heat at the tops of her cheeks. “She did a reading for me.”

“Interesting,” Pansy added, sounding wholly uninterested. 

“You—worked with Padma?” Hermione tried.

“Yeah, we worked together for years.” 

“Interesting,” Hermione replied. 

“Gods, this is dull,” Draco sighed. 

-

By Friday evening, Hermione was dragging herself back to Ginny’s flat, Crookshanks curled into the bend of her arm. 

“She hasn’t bitten your head off yet?” Ginny asked once she had settled into her spot on the sofa. Ron was absent, but in his place Neville was humming to himself in the kitchen while he thoroughly pulverized tomatoes for their guacamole. Why he insisted on squishing the tomatoes and barely chopping the avocado was beyond her. He called it ‘chunky guac’ once and Ginny had forbidden him to call it that ever again. 

“No,” Hermione said, a half-broken tortilla chip in hand. “She was...civil. Barely looks in my direction though. Draco conned me into getting coffee with them on break and it was the most awkward fifteen minutes I’ve had in years. It’s like she has nothing to say to me.” 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Ginny asked. Her Harpies’ gear was replaced with old pyjamas, and Hermione was fairly certain—judging by the dragon motif—that the jumper she wore used to belong to Charlie. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m just saying.”

“Right,” Ginny said slowly. “And you’re sure you’re not cross with Harry about all this?”

“I’m not cross,” Hermione insisted. 

Admittedly, she still felt on edge, unsettled by her earlier encounter. Pansy had that way of looking at her, gaze full of indifference, as if there weren’t ages of vitriol and strange encounters between them. She wondered if Pansy felt it too—years of things unsaid stretching thin. Having her in the office was like having an uncomfortable reminder of her past walking around. She thought of Bill when she saw her, thought of Fleur, thought of the lonely cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth. She thought of Griphook, bent and bloody, and Dobby’s little grave, dug by Harry’s hands. If she let herself, she thought too of the scared and widened eyes of Pansy Parkinson. She remembered the way they flashed from fear to arrogance when they found Hermione after they bumped into each other in the kitchen of Shell Cottage, both girls fugitives in their own way.

An image of Pansy standing at the basin in the kitchen drifted into her mind often during the day, lips pressed tightly as she stared out at the dark sea. She had spun around when she realized she was being watched, biting back an insult as Hermione blinked back surprise. But she didn’t protest when Hermione blindly went to her, needing comfort, needing something. Pansy had held her that night in early March, held her as she sobbed, cradling her still-healing arm. 

The image stuck thick in Hermione’s throat as she forced down the memory. Almost all of her memories of the war were carefully tucked away, and yet Pansy’s recent appearance in her life picked at them like a scab. Her fingers softly dug into Crookshanks’ thick fur for support. He meowed, and Hermione thought it sounded particularly sympathetic. 

“Well I’m glad,” Ginny said, interrupting her thoughts. “Harry's coming by later anyways. Speaking of cons, can I convince you to come to the Leaky tonight? Cho’s having a belated birthday gathering.”

Hermione hesitated. All day she had thought about falling asleep on the sofa to the dulcet tones of Emma Thompson and Hugh Grant and venturing out to the Leaky had not been a part of those plans.

“I don’t know, Gin…”

“What about our film?” Neville asked, emerging with dish in hand.

“Nev, Sense and Sensibility can wait. We can always watch it tomorrow, Hermione has it saved on one of those things,” Ginny said.

Hermione had described the wonders of television more than once to Ginny but figured her willingness to watch Muggle films with her was enough. 

“Did Harry agree to go?”

“Yep,” Ginny grinned, “and Luna and Ron are meeting us there. Come on, ‘Mione, I’ll let you borrow that top of mine you like.”

“Gin, I haven’t seen Cho since…last summer? I don’t want to just show up.”

“Oh please,” Ginny said, “it’s a casual thing, she won’t mind one bit. She asks about you now and then when I see her. It’ll take your mind off of the horrors of working near Parkinson.”

“Fine, alright. I’ll go, but only if Neville comes.”

Neville shrugged, settling into the chair across from them. “Do I get to borrow a top, too?”

Ginny snorted loudly. “For you, Nev, anything.”

-

The Leaky had changed over the years. After Tom’s inevitable retirement, Hannah Abbott had set about giving the place a facelift. It was still impossibly dark, but significantly less shabby. Shoes no longer stuck to the floor at the end of the night and everything had a recent polish to it. Hannah’s presence had also changed its patronage. More and more Hogwarts alumni gathered there on weekends and after work. Hermione had run into countless old schoolmates there over the years and the pub quickly regained its place in the magical community.

It was especially busy that night. Haze from smoke obscured the ceiling as they entered, the entire pub was filled with loud laughter and shouts. Hermione gripped Ginny’s hand with her right and pulled Neville along with her left. She caught sight of Hannah behind the bar and waved at her, leaning over to Neville.

“You should talk to her,” she said. 

“She’s busy,” Neville muttered, though he smiled when Hannah nodded towards him. 

“Off you go,” Hermione teased, giving him a little push. “First round is on you, then.” Neville grinned nervously as he made his way to the bar, eyes only for Hannah.

“He’s smitten!” Ginny laughed. She was half-shouting into Hermione’s ear just so she could be heard.

“It’s sweet,” Hermione agreed.

Ginny led them around tables and stools as they made their way towards the back of the pub. Hermione kept her eyes open for any sign of their friends, finally spotting Luna. She lifted her hand to wave before quickly yanking it back. 

“Gin, stop,” she hissed. 

Ginny paused, glancing back. “What? I see Lune, she’s right over there.”

Luna, her back to them, was chatting easily with both Parvati and Cho. Hermione shook her head at Ginny. 

“She looks like she’s busy, let’s see if we can find Harry?”

Ginny scrunched up her nose. “What? No, she doesn’t. You saw Parvati recently anyways, it’ll be fine.”

“Ginny,” Hermione pleaded, anxiety rising steadily in her chest. Ginny stared at her in bewilderment for a moment before realization slowly dawned on her.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “Hermione!”

“Don’t,” Hermione groaned.

“Did you hook up with Parvati when you were supposed to be getting your tea leaves read?” Ginny gasped, excitement in her eyes.

“Maybe,” Hermione admitted, “but it wasn’t planned! It just sort of…happened. She did read my leaves first!” 

“You absolute snake in the grass, you seductress!” Ginny was laughing, shaking Hermione gently by the shoulders, steering her away from where Luna was.

“I can’t believe I paid for that,” she marvelled.

“It wasn’t planned, Gin! It was very, you know, unexpected,” Hermione said.

“You think Parvati knew?” Ginny chuckled. “I wonder if she saw it coming beforehand.”

Hermione shrugged. “She did seem rather amused with my reading.”

“And?” Ginny prompted, “how’d it go?”

“I dunno, she had candles set up, Gin. It was all sort of oddly nice? I mean, I know the candles were for the reading, but still. And it was dark, and she was, you know, you’ve seen her.”

“Hermione Granger,” Ginny announced, spreading her hands wide, “brought to blathering by the gorgeous Parvati Patil. Gods, ‘Mione, it’s like a romance novel. Woman goes to see old schoolmate to get a reading done, has a mysterious afternoon—”

“Alright,” Hermione cut her off. 

“No teasing,” Ginny promised, “just excited for you. Are you going to see her again?”

Hermione laughed nervously. “Merlin, no, Gin. And you can’t tell anyone about it. It was absolutely a one-time thing.”

“Not a word from me, then,” Ginny confirmed, before squeezing Hermione’s hand and doing her best to hide a smirk.

-

They managed to find Harry soon after alongside a grinning Neville, drinks in hand. Hermione eased into the evening, surrounded by familiar faces. Ron joined them once he finished work and Luna eventually drifted over. Hermione wandered in and out of conversations, happy to see Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas in one corner, and Angelina Johnson, George, and Lee Jordan chatting in another. She liked seeing her friends like this. Ginny had her arm slung over Luna’s shoulders, George ribbing on Ron at every possible opportunity, Harry looking more relaxed than he had in months. She always thought Ron had got it right. Getting out of the Ministry after two years, starting up with George and his business instead. He wore the weight of the war lightly now. She smiled at her friends, feeling grateful, before Neville passed her a drink.

“Just going to the loo,” she announced later in the evening, having had a few more drinks than usual. Neville was using any excuse he could get to head to the bar and had volunteered himself as runner. Ginny waved her off and she carefully pushed through the gathering press of bodies.

“Hermione?” 

Hermione stopped, craning her neck to see who had called her.

“Oh—Padma. I didn’t know you were here.” She turned to say hello, catching sight of the twin. 

“Really? I thought I saw you earlier,” Padma smiled. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Hermione said, taking her in. Padma wore her hair shorter than Parvati did, her face a little thinner, maybe a centimetre or so taller. 

“Parvati told me you’re working with Pansy Parkinson now,” she added. Hermione shifted from one foot to the other, looking for a way out of the conversation. While she was glad Parvati hadn’t been brought up, the last thing she wanted to do was discuss Pansy. Her neck suddenly felt too hot.

“Well, I’m in Investigations, so sort of, but not really. Kind of Auror-adjacent,” she tried. 

“Auror-adjacent,” Padma repeated, amused. “Well, we miss her at Gringotts already. Bill and I are practically in mourning over there. The Ministry is lucky to have her.”

Hermione nodded. Padma seemed defensive of Pansy, as if she knew Hermione would think otherwise. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her, but it did. 

“Yeah, everyone’s been saying that,” she supplied.

They talked for another few minutes before Hermione excused herself, promising to find Padma later before she left. After the loo, she found the back entrance to the pub, needing a few minutes of air. She leaned against the rough brick, revelling in the chill of the spring evening. The chatter and noise of the pub was muted, the alleyway quiet. 

“Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes shot open. “Gods, really?” she muttered, the heels of her palms pressing against her forehead. 

“What?” 

“No, sorry,” Hermione turned, facing a confused Pansy. “I just—thought I was alone out here.”

“So did I,” Pansy mused. Her hands were shoved deep in her pockets, hair pulled back from her face. Hermione tried not to stare. She looked so different than she had all those years ago, time having sharpened her features. She didn’t look afraid anymore, just wary. 

“I can go,” Hermione offered.

“You’re fine, Granger,” Pansy said. 

Hermione shuffled her feet against the cold, mirroring Pansy and pushing her hands into her pockets to keep herself from tugging at her curls. She couldn’t stand the silence.

“Why do you call me that, by the way?”

“What, your name?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, why do you call me Granger.”

“Oh.” Pansy rolled her shoulders, shrugging. “Draco calls you that.”

“Right.” Hermione chewed at the inside of her cheek, thankful for the Butterbeer warming her from the inside out. 

“You two are close?”

Pansy seemed surprised by the question. She watched Hermione for a moment before answering.

“We are.”

They fell back into an uneasy silence. Hermione wondered which one of them would cave and go inside first. Altogether, it seemed like much too much Pansy Parkinson all at once. Seven years of absence and then a sudden rush of her everywhere Hermione looked. Feast or famine. 

“Erm,” Hermione cleared her throat, chancing a look beside her, “did you do field work at Gringotts?”

Pansy’s lip quirked. “Lots of questions tonight.”

Hermione resisted the strange impulse to laugh.

“I did half and half. Bill liked having me close in London when he needed me. Otherwise, I was in the field.”

“Is that why you took the job at the Ministry, so you didn’t have to travel?” Hermione asked, driven by politeness and her own curiosity. 

“I wanted a new challenge,” Pansy supplied. “And the famous Harry Potter is hard to say no to.”

Hermione really did laugh this time, nodding. She understood. She would do anything for Harry. 

“Be honest, was it Harry or Draco that convinced you?” she asked.

Pansy grinned. Hermione’s gaze darted to her mouth. 

“Mostly Draco. He’s a proper schemer when he wants to be. What about you, Granger? How did you end up in Investigations?”

“Erm, in a roundabout way, I suppose,” Hermione replied. “Trying to gain more experience in different departments.”

“I was surprised to find you worked there,” Pansy said. “I thought you’d be throwing yourself off cliffs for house-elves or something.”

“Yeah, well,” Hermione bristled, “Kingsley recommended it.”

Pansy’s brow raised. “Why? Why would you need more experience, given who you are?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked.

Pansy laughed. “Serious, Granger? Come off it. You’re on first-name basis with the Minister. You could waltz into any position you wanted at the Ministry.”

Hermione recoiled, the tentative amiability between them quickly disappearing. 

“That’s—that’s really unfair,” she said. “I’ve worked my arse off to get where I am. Nothing’s been handed to me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Pansy pointed out, unmoved. “Seems like I’ve hit a nerve though.”

Anger crawled through her body and she pushed herself off of the wall, feeling herself sway slightly. Hermione held back her reply, taking a moment to steady herself. 

“You seem to know a lot about me for someone who’s virtually ignored me this past week,” Hermione snapped. 

She could see the surprise in Pansy’s eyes, knew she had revealed too much. 

“Do you not want me to ignore you, Granger?” Pansy taunted, already too close. “Are you looking for my attention?”

“Fuck off,” Hermione managed, brushing past her and through the door. 

Her chest was heaving as she stumbled back to her friends, her head spinning. She hated her. And Pansy had seen it, in that split second between them. Had seen how she was drawn to her. Repelled from her. 

“There you are,” Ron called, his arm clumsily draping over her back as she rejoined them. Luna smiled at her and Harry glanced up and waved. Ginny caught her eye and shot her a look. Hermione shook her head before Ginny could pull her off again and interrogate her. She leaned back into Ron’s arm, letting the comfort of her friends drown out any thoughts of Pansy Parkinson. 

-

Hermione dreamt again that night. She almost knew she would, had even put off going to bed because of it. She paced around her flat beforehand, staring at her walls of books, wondering if she could justify reorganizing them. When sleep finally came, it was fitful. 

She was surrounded by the unending windows of Shell Cottage, their usual welcome light now unsettling in the darkness. Images of Luna faded in and out – her face beaten, bruised. Her soft voice, telling Hermione that Pansy was there because she had nowhere else to go. That Pansy was there because she had run when the war intensified, slipped out during the night while her parents quickly radicalized. She remembered the distrust she felt, the bitterness. But by the end, she dreamt of her, of Pansy holding her tear-stained face in her hands. She had reached for Pansy, pulled her down to her level, lips cool against hers. It was fevered and reckless but she couldn’t stop. Pansy’s mouth covered hers and she clung to her in the quiet of the kitchen, taking what she she could.


	3. The Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all, hope everyone is doing ok out there. as always - feedback appreciated!

Hermione was three bites into her pancake before she realized Luna was studying her. She knew the look well. Luna had the uncanny ability to realize when things were a little off. When she wanted to know more, she stared, pensive and thoughtful until she was ready to ask more. Hermione knew not to rush her – the questions would come soon enough. In the meantime, the pancakes themselves were decent, though Ginny had tried to switch the milk for Pepper-up Potion before Ron stopped her. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry called, bustling through the door into Ginny’s flat. Hermione shuffled her chair over to make room.

“Nev not coming?” Ron asked.

Harry reached for a pancake, drizzling it with honey before carefully rolling it.

“I don’t think so, I couldn’t get a hold of him this morning.” 

Ginny took a swig of her orange juice before holding it aloft. “Cheers to Neville, he finally did it.”

“You reckon he went home with Hannah?” Ron wondered.

“Maybe,” Harry laughed, “I did see them together before I left.”

“Of course he did,” Ginny said. “The greenhouses get lonely, I imagine. Neville deserves a little happiness in his life.”

“Weird it’s Hannah though,” Ron muttered. “I mean, good for him, yeah. Just didn’t think it would be Hannah.”

Ginny titled her chair back, the old wood protesting with the movement. “Dunno, Ron, Hannah’s nice. She always gives us a free round when we come by.” 

Hermione held up her fork to speak. “Mm, I think that’s because having the acting head of the Auror Department dropping by on the weekend is good for business.”

Harry nudged her with his foot under the table. “Hey, Robards is still around for a while longer.”

“Just saying,” Hermione teased. 

Ron shoved a sizeable piece of pancake into his mouth and tried to talk around it. “You going to stick around to see that happen, ‘Mione?” 

Hermione paused, staring down at her plate. She had thought about it countless times—what it would be like having Harry head the department. He already was her boss in almost every sense of the word. She didn’t begrudge him the position; he had earned it. But it made her more reflective than she’d like. It made her think about her own role at the Ministry, stuck in Investigations. Draco referred to their role as ‘aurors without the fun bit,’ and she knew he was right. She also knew why Draco stayed. She saw it on his face every time the aurors left on a case – he wanted to be out in the field. They both knew he never would. His redemption had only gone so far. Her own excuse for staying felt empty in comparison.

“I think so, yeah,” she answered. 

“Hermione’s already made herself invaluable, to no one’s surprise,” Harry added. “Did she tell you all that she tracked down Rookwood just from hearsay and a few receipts?”

“Merlin, I remember having that file on my desk,” Ron marvelled. 

“Technically, Draco helped me with Rookwood,” Hermione pointed out. “And I’ve been stuck on the Dolohov case for over two months.”

Ginny shook her head in disgust. “I want to be on that trip when you find him.” 

“Might not be for ages,” Hermione said. “The most I’ve got to go on is a few personal belongings found outside of Salzburg. They’re so riddled with curses I haven’t been able to touch them.” 

Harry cleared his throat and brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes. “Actually,” he started, “I’ve been thinking about that.”

“About the Dolohov case?” Hermione asked, instantly suspicious.

“Yeah, er, I was going to bring this up on Monday, but now that we’re here.”

“Harry…”

“I’m thinking of putting Pansy on the file,” he managed, his words tumbling out quickly.

Ginny pretended to be busy piling her plate with fruit while Luna and Ron looked anywhere but at Hermione. 

“You’re joking,” Hermione said.

“I really think she could give us a breakthrough with the case, no one in the department has been able to figure out the curses on the items. She’s the best shot we have.”

Hermione mulled over his words. She really, really disliked when Harry was right like this.

“Put Draco on it then. He can take over what I’ve started,” she decided.

“You’re really going to give up the case just because of Pansy?” 

“Harry, I thought I made myself really clear the other week—”

Exasperated, Harry leaned forward. “I don’t understand, Hermione! You wanted help on the case, I’m offering you help. I need you on this.”

“I don’t want her help,” she spat. 

“Enough work chat at breakfast!” Ginny declared. “Happy topics only. Ron, how’s the patent on the new WonderWitch products doing?’

Ron looked between his two friends, knowing better than to get involved. “Er, it’s alright, Gin.”

“I’ll clear the table,” Harry muttered. 

Hermione stood, her chair bumping against the counter behind her. “I’ll do it.” She quickly stacked a pile of plates before exiting into the kitchen. Conflict with Harry hadn’t been on her list that day, and she battled equal amounts of guilt and frustration as she dropped the dishes into the sink.

She heard the soft shuffle of feet behind her and resisted turning around. Luna’s hand came to rest against her back.

“Are you alright, Hermione?”

Hermione released the tension she was holding in her shoulders. “Yeah, I’m fine, Luna.”

“You haven’t been yourself lately,” Luna noted. 

Luna shifted until she stood beside Hermione, her loose ash-blonde curls tangled in the static of her jumper. 

“You’re anxious,” she suggested. “Your aura is darker than usual.”

“What, was it nice before?” Hermione asked, pleased when Luna smiled gently in reply.

“It’s always nice. You seemed unhappy the other night though, did you want to talk about what happened?”

Hermione worried the inside of her lip. She didn’t want to tell Luna about her encounter with Pansy. A lie slipped out easily instead.

“I…realized I don’t see old school friends enough. I think it got to me.”

“That’s fair,” Luna nodded. “Parvati was there the other night. She asked me to mention that she’d like to see you again.”

“Oh.” Hermione tried not to stiffen. She had almost forgotten that Luna and Parvati were close. “Could you…could you tell her I’m sorry for not following up?”

“I’ll tell her,” Luna said. 

Hermione waited until Luna left before leaning against the sink, scrubbing at her face. Gods, she was tired. And she realized she hadn’t thought about Parvati since the night before. Pansy seemed to loom over her thoughts instead. 

She found Harry later by the door, preparing to leave.

“Harry—” she started. He held up his hands.

“Hermione, I’m sorry, I know you don’t like Pansy. I’ll ask Draco if he—”

“No, I want to apologise first.” Hermione forced down her pride and shrugged. “I want this case solved more than I dislike Pansy. If you want to add Draco, that’s fine. But I want to stay on.”

“I’ll take it,” Harry said. “I do think she could be the extra help we need to find Dolohov. Draco and Bill can’t say enough about her.”

“Alright, alright,” Hermione sighed, “let’s not push it. Merlin, if one more person gushes about that woman.” 

Harry grinned before pulling her in for a one-armed hug. “See you Monday, ‘Mione.”

“See you, Harry.” 

-

“I want to see what you have on Markham,” Draco asked, leaning over Nancy’s desk. Hermione watched them absently, arms folded on her desk.

It had been over a week since her conversation with Harry. Blissfully, the past five days had been auror-free. They were all on assignment, leaving the department eerily quiet. But the peace could only last so long, and by Monday afternoon they were all trickling back in. The office smelt heavy of sweat and earth. Hermione listened to their rumbling conversations in between Draco’s interrogation of Nancy. Her eyes followed Harry as he moved between desks, checking in with various teams about their assignments and clapping various aurors on the shoulder. He approached Pansy’s desk and she stood. Hermione sat up in her chair. As far as she could tell, Pansy had a streak of dirt across her cheek, and her normally black uniform was marred with soot and grime. Hermione glared at the dark crease cutting across Pansy’s face, starting at the base of her jaw and disappearing into her hairline. She wondered where Pansy had been sent—wondered if her first time out in the field as an auror had been the challenge she hoped for. 

Her gaze darted up when she realized Pansy and Harry had stopped talking. They were both staring at her, Harry with concern, Pansy with interest. Hermione quickly moved the papers on her desk around to look busy. Draco wandered back a moment later and slumped into his seat.

“Ghastly,” Draco muttered.

Hermione set her quill down with more force than necessary, careful to check that Harry and Pansy had moved on. “What?”

Draco glanced up. “Oh, nothing.” He twirled a quill around his fingers, looking morose. It was his usual routine after the teams returned from the field. He’d stare at them, green with envy, before busying himself and pretending he wasn’t bothered. Hermione decided to play along.

“Out with it, then.”

Draco clicked his tongue. “Was just a comment on your attire, Granger.”

Hermione scoffed and crossed her arms. “What’s the issue this time?”

“It’s the blouse.” He pursed his lips, shaking his head. 

“And what about it?”

“It’s beige. But also a tad grey. Sort of greige, if you will.”

Hermione stared down at her shirt, knowing it was perfectly acceptable. “Draco,” she started, “it’s a Monday afternoon, and I had literally no one to see it but you and Nancy. And one of you knows better than to discuss my wardrobe with me.”

“Yes, Nance can be rather rude, can’t she?” 

The two of them glanced behind them in time to catch Nancy rolling her eyes. 

“Back to the greige blouse,” Draco sniffed. “Didn’t your mother ever discuss work wear with you?”

“My parents are dentists.”

“Teeth people, yes, you’ve told me.”

“Right, so, let’s move on. Without the comments, this time,” Hermione said. 

“Fine,” Draco agreed.

“But Draco?”

“Mm?”

Hermione held his gaze for a moment. “That tie ages you.”

Draco almost choked on his own laugh. “Gods, Granger, I love when you get feisty with me.” 

“Hey, I’m sorry, can one of you get me the notes on the Acton case already?” Nancy said.

“On it, Nance.”

“I think she’s going to blast you one day,” Hermione whispered.

“Looking forward to it,” Draco grinned.

Draco hummed quietly for the next hour as Hermione tried to focus on her work. Occasionally Draco would catch her eye and pull a face, forcing Hermione to hide her laughter beneath a terrible impersonation of a cough. She could feel Nancy’s scowl from across the room. But Draco seemed to be rescued from whatever mood had gripped him and that made enduring Nancy’s disapproval more bearable. 

The easy lull they had fallen into was interrupted by the sudden snap of Robards’ door against wood.

“Potter, Parkinson,” he jutted his chin towards where Harry stood before turning, “Granger, and Malfoy. Inside.”

“D’you think we’re in trouble?” Draco whispered as he followed behind her. Hermione reached back to try and jab him in the ribs as they made their way to his office. When she turned, Pansy moved out of the way so she could go in first.

“After you, Granger.”

“I’m fine,” she grit through her teeth. 

The dirt was gone from Pansy’s face, just a shadow now across her cheekbone. Hermione looked away and waited for Pansy to enter first.

Draco put a hand on each of their shoulders and pushed them aside, growling as he went. “Fucking hell, you two.”

Robards was standing behind his desk while the four of them filed in. Hermione always felt tense under his gaze, the sharp grey eyes flicking back and forth as he waited for them to find their place. 

“Potter,” he began, scratching at his rough beard, “has been filling me on his plans with the Dolohov case. Granger, you started with the file, so you’ll stay on as head investigations. Malfoy, you’re on as well. Parkinson will head the case from our end. Potter, I’m leaving it up to you to supervise.”

Despite knowing this was coming, Hermione couldn’t help the bitter taste in her mouth as the other three murmured their understanding. The idea of spending any extended amount of time with Pansy was daunting. She didn’t like the idea of Draco being on the case either. When it was the two of them, it felt like they were on equal footing. Pansy being there would tip the balance. And with Harry’s schedule, she imagined his presence would be tenuous at best.

Draco’s voice, a soft drawl, brought her back to the conversation at hand. “When do you want us to start, sir?”

“Now,” Robards clipped. “With Parkinson on board, I’m releasing Dolohov’s items to you as soon as you want them.”

Irritation prickled at her. Robards had refused to let Hermione see the items in person beforehand, admonishing her for wanting to see them before they could be properly assessed. 

“Can you tell us more about what we’re dealing with?” Pansy asked.

“Granger can give you the basics,” he replied, almost ready to usher them out, “we don’t know much else beyond that. You can use the back office if needed, and the testing room to deal with the items. Understood?”

-

The back office was empty when Draco, Pansy, and Hermione found it. The arched windows, charmed to show the streets of London, cast a soft light over everything in the room. A heavy oak table and stiff chairs filled most of the space, complete with neat piles of fresh parchment and deep wells of ink. 

“What a treat,” Draco remarked, “a break from Nance and a room with my two favourites.” He pushed the leg of a chair with his toe, the sound of it scraping against stone echoing dully. 

Neither girl replied as they took stock of the room. Old paintings dotted the walls in between windows and a small fireplace stood empty in the corner. Hermione stopped in front of one of the frames, watching as gauzy fields of wheat bent under an invisible wind. Everything in the room seemed almost too cozy for its intended use.

“It’s all rather pedestrian, isn’t it?” Draco mused.

“You don’t have to stay,” Hermione said, “I’m happy to use the office by myself.”

“Ah, the famous Granger charm,” Draco sighed. “Don’t worry Pans, it’s not us. Granger isn’t good at sharing.”

Pansy was already seated, legs crossed, waiting for the two of them to finish. She ignored Draco’s remark and flipped open a notepad. 

"Let's start with what you know."

“A few of Dolohov’s things were found in a village outside of Salzburg. He was staying in a home owned by a Death Eater sympathizer. The theory is he caught wind of auror activity elsewhere in Austria and decided to bolt.”

“What village?” Pansy asked.

“Anthering,” Hermione replied. 

“Lovely little chalet on the outskirts there,” Draco added. “I think I actually stayed there once as a child, it was near where Macnair…oh. Right.” 

“We think it was Macnair’s son who owned the property. It adds up,” Hermione muttered. 

Draco quickly brushed off the blunder. “Makes me more of an asset, I suppose.”

“You know we’re not actually going to Anthering, don’t you?” Hermione said.

“Why not?” Draco said. 

Pansy nudged Draco. “Bad weather.”

“I remember having a hard time getting a decent plate nearby,” Draco mused.

“Maybe it’s the company?” Pansy said.

“Too true, Pans,” Draco agreed, “and we’d probably have to take Granger along. If she’d have us.”

“Oh and you think I’d go after that?” Hermione snorted. 

“We all know you could use a break, seems like a good enough reason.” 

“I’d take Nancy before I took you lot,” Hermione said.

Draco pretended at offence. 

“Let’s get back to the briefing,” Pansy cut in. 

Hermione nodded and moved to open her mouth before her jaw clicked shut. Pansy uncrossed her legs, switching sides.

“The items?” Pansy prompted.

Hermione straightened and began listing off her fingers. “A broken wand, a ring, and a few books. Robards had a hard time getting the items back to the Ministry and I haven’t been able to see them in person yet—”

Hermione glanced up and caught Pansy and Draco exchanging a look.

“What now?”

“Sorry,” Pansy started, confused, “you haven’t even been able to see the items?”

“Er, well, no—”

“Not even the wand?” Draco interjected.

Hermione sucked at her teeth in frustration. “No, Robards was clear that he wanted a proper assessment done first. Allegedly, they’re cursed. Hence—” Hermione waved her hand towards Pansy, “you being here.”

“Alright,” Pansy said. “I’ll need copies of all your notes and Robards’ report on the items before I feel comfortable bringing them in.”

“Hold on,” Hermione paused, “I can write up condensed versions but I’m not comfortable just handing over my notes to you both.”

Pansy arched a dark brow, lips pulled back into a tight smile. “Granger, in case you missed Robards’ lecture, I’m heading the case. So I’m going to need your notes. Today.”

“You’re not heading the _case_ ,” Hermione corrected her. “You’re handling it from your side. Honestly Pansy, you’re just here so Robards will let me get my hands on Dolohov’s items.”

“Is that so?” Pansy asked, eyes flashing. “Or do you think there’s another reason Robards—or should I say Potter—wouldn’t let you even see the items in person until I was brought on?”

“No, that was Robards’ decision. Not Harry’s,” Hermione insisted. She turned to Draco for assistance, but he was staring intently at the threading of his robe. 

Pansy tilted her head, hair brushing against the edge of her robe. “Interesting,” she murmured, the word drawn out on her tongue. “And you’ve seen Potter’s report? Or just Robards’?”

“Er,” Hermione hesitated. She didn’t know Harry had a separate report. “I’ve seen Robards’, that’s enough.” 

“Don’t be naïve, Granger, it doesn’t suit you. We all know Potter is in charge of the majority of what goes on in here. Robards’ is just a formality. And Potter’s report noted that the items were not to be released to you under any circumstances until someone else could be brought on.”

Hermione tried to make sense of her words. There was a logical reason for this, she was sure.

“I’m sure…Harry had a good reason.”

“Do you think he wondered you might not be able to handle it? You are fresh from the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures, are you not?” Pansy said, voice edged with derision. 

Hermione dug her nails into her palm, itching for her wand. She wasn’t going to duck first this time. 

“I think Harry has good enough reasons to trust me,” she replied. “Maybe he was holding out for someone more familiar with dark items. Someone who would know all about the movements of Death Eaters – someone with personal connections. Do you think _that’s_ why you’re here, Parkinson?”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “Keep going, Granger. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Try me,” Hermione countered. 

“Well,” Draco suddenly shot up, “I think this was a solid first meeting, team. Granger, you’ll get those notes to us as soon as possible? Pansy, you’ll talk to Robards’ about bringing in the items soon?”

Hermione didn’t take her eyes off Pansy. She knew she had pushed her, had potentially gone too far, but she couldn’t stop herself. At this point, she wasn’t sure who had started it. But she could tell Pansy was enjoying goading her on. 

Pansy snapped her notepad shut and stood abruptly. “Fine. We’re done here.”

“Yeah, I think we established that,” Hermione shot back. 

“So glad we’re working together, Granger,” Pansy purred. “Brightest witch of her age, indeed.”

Hermione fumed as Pansy left, the door slamming in its frame behind her. She turned to Draco with wild eyes. 

“Can you believe her? She’s bloody intolerable!” 

Draco glanced at the closed door and back to Hermione, looking significantly more tired than before.

“You both need to get over whatever bitterness you’re still harbouring. This isn’t about either of you, we have a job here.”

Hermione was taken aback. She was expecting some coy response, not Draco’s honesty. He sounded alarmingly like Harry.

“And as entertaining as that was to watch,” he continued, “I would like to see this case move forward.”

“No—I—of course.”

“Good,” Draco sighed, checking his watch. “Can I be frank with you, Granger? Take a seat.”

She nodded and found her chair again, almost surprised to find herself standing. Draco sat across from her.

“First, you and I both know I don’t need to be on this case. I perhaps have some familial knowledge of the Doholov family, but it’s nothing you don’t already know, and certainly nothing Pansy doesn’t know. Secondly, I’m no more thorough of a researcher than you, and there are other pressing cases I should probably be working on. Are you following?”

“Er, I mean, I agree,” Hermione said.

“So why do you think Potter’s put me on this case? He doesn’t think the two of you can cooperate enough without a bloody minder. And as much as I enjoy playing nanny, I’d rather focus my energy on finding this prick.”

“I get it, Draco,” she said, embarrassment washing over her.

“Perfect, then we’re on the same page,” he said, voice softening. “Now, did you want to talk about your obvious loathing for her?”

Hermione stared up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “She’s insufferable.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“It’s not all me, you know,” Hermione said. “She seems to hate me just as much.”

“I think she senses your…hostility,” Draco replied.

Hermione laughed under her breath. Hostility was one way to put it. 

“She was at Shell Cottage,” Draco said, his voice quiet.

The statement hung between them. Hermione pushed herself up in her chair, feeling like all the air had just been sucked from the room.

“What do you know?” she whispered, half-question, half-accusation.

“I know she was there for a long time. Over a year. I know Bill and Fleur took her under their wing.”

“And?”

“And I know,” Draco continued, “that you saw her there. Did something happen between the two of you, Hermione?” 

She stared past him, picturing Pansy’s hands—shaking, gripping her face, drinking her in. She felt Pansy’s breath soft against her cheek, their fears whispered between them, holding court with their dread. 

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “No, nothing.”

“Ah.” Draco stood to leave. “You should ask her what she remembers.” He closed the door gently behind him, leaving Hermione to sit with the mess she had created.

She hadn’t meant for it to spiral quite so out of control. She meant to push her own feelings aside, to force down thoughts of Pansy. In agreeing to work with her, she hadn’t considered how much it would remind of her their time at Shell Cottage. Pansy was an unknown even then. Her eyes had followed Hermione from room to room, the fear in them wide enough to swallow them both. She was less afraid to touch her then, especially after their first night in the kitchen. Pansy was many things to her then—a reminder of what she was up against, a last-ditch attempt to feel something before she faced the possibility of death, a sanctuary, a mistake. 

She wanted, for a moment, to tell Draco. She almost stopped him at the door, told him that Pansy looked at her differently now. She wanted to tell him of the night Pansy’s voice went hoarse from pleading, begging Hermione not to leave with Harry and Ron. How her eyes had hardened when Hermione took the Polyjuice Potion, the scent of Bellatrix clinging to her skin. Pansy had been as fearful and angry as she was. 

And then there was nothing. Whispers of Pansy throughout the years, scraps of a sentence from Bill or Fleur over a late Easter lunch about Pansy’s progress at Gringotts, a note in the paper about Mrs. Parkinson’s trial. Pansy never reached out and Hermione hadn’t sought her either. Her own grief had been too deep to try and wade through someone else’s. Now, having Pansy so close to her sharpened her emotions and dug up things she hadn’t touched in ages. 

Hermione quietly gathered up her things. She wrote Harry a brief note about having to leave early before slipping out of the office and fleeing to the safety of her own home.


	4. The Incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> felt very ~uninspired lately, but listened to Mazzy Star's 'Fade Into You' while writing and this is the result. Hope you all enjoy x

Hermione had her notes on Pansy’s and Draco’s desks the next morning before anyone else had arrived. If Harry asked why she came in early, she’d use the excuse that she hadn’t slept well the night before. She hadn’t slept at all though, really. She spent most of the evening sprawled out on her sofa, staring at the empty easel propped up across from her. She could not stop thinking of Draco’s scolding. Or Pansy’s taunts. She thought endlessly of how it felt to have Pansy stare her down, able to point to the moment she moved from cool indifference to biting condescension. Her façade slipped just enough for Hermione to glimpse what was underneath. A part of her wanted it to happen again. 

The walk to the Ministry had shaken off the remnants of tiredness from her body, though her face still felt warm, curls damp and frizzing with moisture. The fog had descended early and settled along the ground, light rain stirring up the mossy smell of pavement and dripping hanging baskets. Draco noticed it too by the time he arrived. His eyes slid from her rain-speckled mug to the unruly ends of her hair before he raised his brow and settled in at his desk. 

“Thank you for these,” he held up the notes, “but there’s cat hair on mine.”

“It’s all there,” she said, ignoring his comment.

Draco thumbed through the thick file, eyes scanning over the pages of meticulous notes. 

“I see that.” 

After Draco’s comment, it took less than ten minutes for Pansy to make her way to Hermione’s desk. Hermione waited a beat before looking up. 

“The notes look good, Granger. I’ll take the morning to read through and we can start with the items after lunch. I’ve already spoken with Robards.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, “that’s great.”

Pansy cleared her throat and glanced at Draco, who was viewing her with veiled surprise.

“See you shortly, Pans,” he added.

Hermione watched Pansy leave. She wondered if she imagined the tentative peace in Pansy’s voice. She was less detached than she had been the day before—just as self-assured, but still different. She turned to Draco.

“Did she just—?”

“Apologise?” Draco suggested. “Yes, I think it’s safe to assume that’s what we just witnessed.”

Hermione’s eyes followed her for another moment. Pansy’s shoulders were thrown back, her robes brushing against the long lines of her body. 

“Quit staring,” said Draco.

Hermione waved him off. “She’s hard to figure out, that’s all.”

“Mm,” Draco leaned in, “another case that Granger hopes to crack.”

“Is there something about Slytherins and an inability to actually apologise?” she asked.

Draco, gently tearing into a croissant, nodded. “It’s a pride thing. Never concede, etcetera. Although I did detect a shred of remorse in her voice.”

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed, staring down at the file in front of her. “I’ll be back, Draco.”

“No need to announce your departure,” Draco muttered.

Hermione’s heart settled in her throat as she approached Pansy. She passed Harry’s door and debated stopping for a moment, popping in to say good morning. A part of her wanted to move past what Pansy said but she knew there was an inkling of truth to it. Harry hadn’t trusted her, at least to a degree. She didn’t like that Pansy had tried to weaponize their friendship. In a moment of frustration, she diverted from her path to Pansy and knocked promptly on Harry’s closed door.

“Harry,” she said, pushing her way in after hearing his muffled reply.

Harry looked up when she came in. She could tell he had been rubbing at his eyes. His office was a little musty but it looked like Harry had tried to organize the papers on his desk recently. 

“Hey ‘Mione. Is it terrible of me to say I’m relieved it’s you? Here,” Harry motioned towards the chair in front of him, “sit for a moment.”

Hermione did as instructed, quickly closing the door and seating herself. 

“You look nice this morning,” Harry yawned. 

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Here for a chat or something more serious?” Picking up on her tone, Harry studied her face.

“I just wanted to run something past you, actually. Pansy mentioned… she mentioned you had a separate report on Dolohov.”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, looking very much a teen again, and Hermione resisted the wave of affection the action prompted in her.

“Yeah, er, Robards asked me to make my own report.”

“And you didn’t want to release the items to me?” Hermione asked.

“Hermione,” Harry groaned, “it’s not—it’s not as if I didn’t think you could handle it. It’s just, I dunno…”

“Harry, I work here, you’ve got to stop trying to protect me.” 

Harry ran his hand through his hair and took a breath. “I know. This case is fucking with me a little, to be honest. What Dolohov did to you, to Remus… I didn’t want you on the case at first. Robards convinced me otherwise.”

Hermione nodded, feeling the weight of the task bearing down on them. She heard Harry’s uneven breaths from across the desk and stood, moving to gather Harry into her arms. He muttered an apology into the crook of her neck. Thoughts of her former professor surfaced and she gripped Harry, knowing he was thinking the same. 

“It is messed up,” she mumbled against his hair. “We’ll find him, Harry.”

A moment passed and Harry loosened his hold, finally pulling away. “Shit day so far,” he joked, trying to lighten what felt like a dark morning. 

“Agreed,” Hermione said. “Want to grab Hilltop for lunch? I’m not meeting with the other two until after.”

“Yeah,” Harry grinned, “I’m in. Hey, are you going to Gin’s tonight for the film?”

“Definitely. Neville’s on snacks for the night. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Harry laughed and Hermione reached over and gave his arm one last quick squeeze. She left his office soon after, pausing on her way out. Pansy’s eyes were on her immediately and she let their gazes meet before pulling her eyes away. 

-

True to her word, Pansy gathered them into their new war room later in the day. Draco had been surprisingly quiet that afternoon and Hermione was feeling a little subdued as well. Her eyes continually found Pansy’s and skittered away in the other direction. It was starting to annoy her how much her mind wandered in Pansy’s presence, how much Pansy seemed to be perpetually fine in hers. Hermione blinked and an image of her burying her nose in the crook of Pansy’s neck reached her, remembering the relief and need she felt. Abruptly, she coughed to cover the heat she felt in her chest.

Draco thumped her square on the back. “Pull it together, Granger.”

Hermione wiped at her eyes and muttered a quiet apology. 

“You two fine to start?” said Pansy, levitating a number of heavily bundled objects in front of Draco and Hermione. 

“I don’t think I need to reiterate our earlier discussion about touching. Robards has only done _preliminary_ tests on everything. Keep at least two feet between you and the items.”

“Yes, Pansy,” Draco said, “or else we’ll end up in pieces scattered across London, we know.”

Hermione stifled her laugh and Draco slipped in a quick grin.

“Books first,” Pansy continued. 

It took longer than expected for Pansy to carefully unwrap each book in the air, letting them hover inches above the table. Hermione and Draco instinctively moved closer. The familiar fragrance of decomposition hung in the air as each book was unfurled, the crackled covers leathery and smelling of must. Half of them were unmarked, just blank covers that looked impossibly worn. A few had faded titles stamped into them. 

“Some of these look like they might be journals,” Hermione noted aloud. 

Draco raised his brows.

“D’you think he wrote a few fun personal items in one of them?” 

“What would he write?” Hermione asked, glad for Draco’s easy chatter. It made the sudden heaviness in the room feel a little lighter. 

“Perhaps – ‘Rats, foiled again by the Potter boy’?”

Hermione snorted as she pulled out a quill and sketch pad, jotting down notes about the books. Ten minutes passed in relative silence. Only the scratching of quills and Pansy’s voice interrupted the quiet. Occasionally, Hermione snuck glances at Pansy. She had her eyes fixed on each book, whispering revealing spells under her breath. 

“This one is clear,” Pansy announced.

The first book lowered slowly to the table and gently fell open. 

“You can take that one, Granger. I want to take the other three somewhere secure before trying anything else.”

Hermione carefully collected the book on the table, covering it in protective paper, and tucked it away. 

“What’s next?” Hermione asked.

“We’re sticking with just the books today,” Pansy explained.

“We have heaps of time though. Certainly time for another, if we can’t take the rest of the books today.”

Pansy, as if she had already conceded her loss, was levitating over another item.

“Yes, fine, Granger.”

Folds of fabric unravelled from the item hovering above the table and Hermione turned to Pansy while she waited, clicking her tongue.

“So you don’t think we’ll have enough time to see them all today?”

“Granger,” Pansy gritted her teeth, “this is a slow process. Can you let me—Draco?”

Hermione followed Pansy’s widening stare to where Draco stood close to the half-broken wand carefully suspended in air. It looked unremarkable.

“Elm,” he murmured.

Hermione peered closer. “I think you’re, right, actually.”

The wood was cracked and splintered down the centre, a significant portion of it missing. Its black exterior gave way to a dark brown interior, a damaged metal piece at the end barely holding the pieces together. 

“It’s not Dolohov’s,” she confirmed. 

“Draco,” said Pansy. 

Pansy’s voice was behind her and Hermione turned as Pansy reached for her shoulder, her fingers firm against her skin, slowly drawing her back as she stepped in front of Hermione. She was approaching Draco, her voice low.

“Draco, take a step away.”

“Dragon heartstring,” he continued. 

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but paused at Draco’s word. She stared at the two of them in confusion, her mind reeling to put together what was happening. 

“Draco, listen—step back,” Pansy said. 

Hermione instinctively backed herself against the wall, feeling a frame press into the curve of her shoulder. Something had shifted in the room. The air felt thinner, slowly being sucked from around them, a string pulled taut. Draco was still peering, transfixed, at the suspended wand. 

“It’s my father’s.” 

The quiet declaration sounded strangled. Hermione flexed her hand around her own wand, thumb running over its grooves. Pansy was still approaching Draco slowly, as if scared to startle him. He was gazing up at the wand, eyes wide, hand raised in question. The moment he reached for the wand, the pressure broke. Pansy moved quickly from the corner of her eye while Hermione sucked in a gasp of air, pulling and directing her magic before throwing up a shield charm. Chairs toppled and glass cracked between frames as Hermione looked wildly for signs of Pansy and Draco. She found the pair of them, Draco sprawled on the ground, Pansy crouched over him. 

Draco, his body rigid, elicited a startled moan. The splintered wand was held firmly in his right hand. Chest heaving, she watched in horror as Pansy leaned over him, wand pointed at his hand as she recited a litany of incantations. Hermione stared as rivets of red poured down his white knuckles. 

“Distract him,” Pansy said between breaths. 

Hermione dropped to her knees and reached for Draco’s good hand. He was shaking, his eyes glassed over. 

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked.

“Draco,” he rasped. 

“Do you know where you are, Draco?”

Another soft moan. Hermione forced herself not to focus on Pansy’s murmured chants or the blood pooling warm around her knees.

“Ministry,” he managed. “Am I going to die, Granger?”

A sudden tightness closed around her chest. Hermione shook her head, finding Draco’s unfocused gaze.

“Not today, love.”

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed on her knees with Draco’s hand cradled in her lap. She spoke to him in hushed tones, letting Pansy work. Her legs became numb and she tasted bile in the back of her throat. The room was filled with Draco’s groans, soft and drawn out. She held his hand tighter. She tried to think of things to say to him, though at some point he stopped responding her to questions. Instead she told him about her latest painting project she was working on, how she couldn’t quite get the shades of blue quite right. While Pansy never broke her concentration, Hermione stumbled through telling Draco about anything mundane that she could think so. She tried to push down the images that surfaced while she waited – of Harry carried in Hagrid’s arms, of Dobby in Harry’s, of Tonks and Remus, hands intertwined on the ground. The images clouded her head and she breathed through the panic, clutching Draco’s hand. In her peripheral, the green robes of healers began drifting in and out of view. They surrounded Draco and blocked out her view. A mediwitch leaned down beside her, carefully pulling her hands away from Draco.

“He’ll be alright now. You’ve got to let go, dear.”

She stared up at the unfamiliar face. 

“Here, I’ve got her,” said Pansy.

A pair of hands gripped her shoulders firmly, pulling her to her feet. Her legs felt heavy as blood slowly returned to her feet. She let Pansy guide her to the back room, glancing back to see the room now empty. However, the office in front of her was in organized chaos. Pansy found a quiet corner and pushed Hermione down into a chair, sitting across from her. 

“A familial curse,” Pansy stated as she lifted her wand and traced a scanning spell over Hermione. “Draco will be okay,” she continued, “he’ll just need a few days of recovery.”

Hermione nodded, still feeling as if she was returning back to her body while Pansy’s magic hummed over her skin.

“You’re clear. Good call on the shield charm.”

Hermione murmured a response. Pansy sounded calm but she was startingly pale. Hermione thought she noticed a slight tremor in her hand. Blood smeared her forehead and arms. 

“We should—” Hermione searched for what she ought to do next, fighting through the thick fog in her mind, “we should go to St Mungo’s.”

Pansy watched Hermione for a minute. “Do you want to take a minute first? Harry’s already there with Draco. The Healers have him.”

Hermione felt a twinge in her stomach at the softness in Pansy’s voice. She realized this might be the most normal conversation they’d had. They sat together at the office, the bustle of activity around them slowly dwindling. Hermione asked Pansy a few stilted questions about what happened and Pansy took her time in replying. It was Lucius’ wand after all. Split down the core from its use by Voldemort years earlier, it was later imbued with a powerful familial curse. 

“Why leave it behind?” said Hermione, cupping her hands together, warmth slowly returning to her fingers. 

Pansy scratched at the dried flakes of blood on her arm as she mulled over the question. 

“Do you think,” Hermione started, “it might have been intentional? I don’t know what kind of news Dolohov gets, but Draco has worked here long enough he might have heard about it. And he fled, didn’t he? Perhaps he was keeping it as some memento but once he realized he was being tracked, he left it behind in hopes it would find its way back to Draco.”

“Could be,” Pansy agreed.

“And you…you knew before Draco touched it?”

Pansy shrugged. “I’ve seen that look before. When I worked with Bill, we had a number of trainees react like that to items. I did once in the beginning too. The familial aspect likely threw Robards off when he first examined it.”

Pansy scratched at her arm again and Hermione realized fresh blood was beginning to seep from what looked like a gash. A glint from a shard of glass caught her eye.

“Jesus, Pansy,” she gasped, “let me see that.”

Confused, Pansy glanced down at her arm. 

“Fuck,” she laughed, holding it out. “Adrenaline, I guess.” 

Hermione held Pansy’s arm in her hand, carefully pulling out the shard of glass before murmuring a quick _Episkey_ over the skin. The sound of Pansy’s laugh rattled in her head as she watched the skin knit itself back together. 

“Thanks,” Pansy said. 

Hermione didn’t allow herself to look up. She was tempted, just for a moment, to run her thumb over the pale skin, over the gathering of veins on the inside of Pansy’s wrist. She dropped her arm instead. 

“Let’s go see Draco,” she said. 

-

Draco was sitting up in bed when they arrived, a mountain of pillows propping him up. Harry was seated beside him. Before either boy realized Pansy and Hermione were near, Harry’s hand rested overtop of his bandaged one. That was…odd. Hermione felt like she was intruding on an intimate moment. She tucked the image away and decided to ask Ginny about it later. She didn’t have the mental energy to decipher what in Merlin’s name she just witnessed. 

Draco looked up as they neared. Harry’s head shot up next, his hand quickly returning to his own lap. 

“No flowers?” Draco asked.

“Forgot the fruit arrangement in the car,” Pansy said.

“Pity,” Draco sighed, looking wounded, “is there no upside to being injured?”

“You’ve got Potter here, haven’t you?” said Pansy.

Harry stared up at the ceiling. Hermione’s head swivelled from Harry to Draco to Pansy, feeling very much like she was missing something.

“Always trying to the boss’ favourite,” Draco deflected. 

“Anyhow—” Harry cleared his throat, “now that you’re all here, let’s quickly go over the details of the incident, yeah?”

Hermione and Pansy pulled up chairs around Draco’s bed, who—despite looking like hell—seemed rather pleased to have them all gathered there. Pansy began to go through her version of events while Draco and Hermione interjected occasionally. 

“Granger’s shield charm was actually quite helpful, I think it mitigated any effect the curse might have had on the two of us,” Pansy said. 

“That’s excellent,” Harry supplied.

“Er—thanks, Pansy.” A small flip happened in her stomach and she looked up to find Draco watching her carefully.

“Yes, yes, another brilliant move by Granger,” Draco added.

“Unfortunately,” Pansy continued, “once I managed to get the wand from Draco, it all but disintegrated. So we have one less item now, but I’m not sure it held much value to us in the first place.”

Draco looked vaguely uncomfortable, but he muttered in agreement.

It was decided, mostly by Harry, that they would take a few days off from examining the rest of Dolohov’s items. Hermione still had the books to go through and she figured that would be enough to keep her busy for a few days while Draco recovered. She left St Mungo’s after an hour with assurances to Harry that she was perfectly alright to Apparate home on her own. 

The light was on under Ginny’s door when she spun into the outside hallway. She let herself in, listening for voices.

Ginny was at the kitchen table, bent over a bowl of butternut squash soup. Her hair was piled high on her head, taken out from the usual plaits she wore during practices. 

“No one’s here yet for the film. There’s more on the stove though,” Ginny said, “and an extra cheese toastie if you want it.”

“More than anything,” Hermione sighed, helping herself. “Luna’s not here?”

Ginny shook her head. “No, she’s out on assignment tonight. Something to do with Moon Frogs.”

Hermione dragged over a chair and set down her dinner. Ginny stretched her arms over her head and yawned.

“You’re home earlier than—hold on,” she peered closer. “Hermione, is that—is that blood?”

Hermione twirled her spoon between her fingers, wondering how to start. 

“It’s not mine. There was an incident at work. Everyone’s okay, though. We, er, brought out Dolohov’s items today. One of them was Lucius Malfoy’s wand.”

“You’re joking,” Ginny said.

“It was…” Hermione struggled to put it into words. The tension that had been gathering inside her since the incident swelled. “It was horrible, Gin.”

She felt pressure behind her eyelids and she pressed her fingers to them. Tears pushed past her hands anyways.

“Sorry,” she laughed, brushing them away, “I’m fine, really. It was just, I don’t know, hard to see Draco get hurt. It’s, er, been a while…” Her voice trailed off, hoping Ginny understood what she meant. It had been a while since she had witnessed someone groaning in pain, body still against the floor.

“I know,” Ginny replied, voice quiet. “Want to tell me about it?”

For the second time that day, Hermione relayed the story. Ginny made sympathetic noises as she ate, asking a few questions here and there. Hermione skirted around the part where Pansy lifted her from the floor and sat with her, or when she healed Pansy’s cut, palm warm against her skin. She instead directed Ginny’s attention to what she saw at St Mungo’s, knowing Ginny would want to hear.

“So Harry was there first?” Ginny asked.

“Gin, he wasn’t just there, he had his hand on Draco’s.”

“Merlin’s tits,” Ginny whispered. “You don’t think…I mean…there’s no way.”

Hermione shrugged. “Isn’t there? They’ve worked together for a while now.”

“Right but, Malfoy?”

“He flirts with Harry shamelessly at work anyways, but he sort of flirts with everyone, to be honest.” Hermione said.

“Decent defence mechanism,” Ginny laughed. 

“It’s just a suspicion,” Hermione pointed out. “But don’t tell Ron yet.”

“I won’t, but—”

“And,” Hermione cut in, “don’t ask Harry about it. If there is actually something going on, I don’t want to scare him off.”

“Alright, fine,” Ginny said, “but keep your eyes on it.”

“I’m all over it,” Hermione smiled. 

“Well, I suppose that’s something interesting that came from a rather bad day,” Ginny offered after a moment. “What about Parkinson?”

Hermione, mouth full of toastie, paused. “What about her?”

“Is she alright, I mean. You hardly mentioned her.”

Hermione wiped her fingers on a roll of kitchen paper and took her time in replying.

“She’s fine. Had a bit of glass in her arm from one of the frames in the room but nothing serious. I patched it up after.”

“You patched it up, did you?” 

Ginny’s spoon clanged loudly around her soup bowl while she waited, but Hermione refused to take the bait.

“Mm, I did.”

“Very interesting, ‘Mione.”

“Not even close, Gin.” 

Ginny gently teased her over the rest of dinner, the two of them waiting for Neville, Ron, and Harry to join. But after a joke Ginny’s eyes would soften and she’d sneak a glance at Hermione, checking in on her. Hermione knew it was her way of keeping her spirits up, keeping her distracted from the day. She was ready to put it behind her. 


	5. The Hallway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, a huge thank you to @silv3r_eyed_stranger for being such a gem, beta'ing this chapter and helping me through it.
> 
> If you like listening to music while reading, I wrote this to "A Better Time to Meet" by Adrienne Lenker, "Jo" by Haley Heynderickx, and "Twice" by Little Dragon.
> 
> This is a longer chapter this week so I hope you all enjoy xx

Hermione went into work the next day feeling…cautiously optimistic. Draco was doing well in hospital, Pansy said she’d have info on the familial curse for her soon, and she’d fallen asleep on Ginny’s sofa, Crookshanks tucked under her arm. And every time thoughts of Draco sprawled on the floor crept into her mind, she distracted herself by spending every moment possible examining the first Dolohov book. It became a little harder to push the thoughts away by midday when Draco’s desk was still very much unoccupied. It felt a bit odd not having to fight him off from her scone. To her credit, Nancy had tried to strike up a few half-hearted conversations, but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to engage. ‘Glad he’ll be alright,’ she had said. Hermione doubted very much Nancy felt that way. Perhaps most puzzling was Harry’s intermittent disappearances throughout the day. He moved quietly in and out of his office, leaving and returning sporadically. 

Pansy, on the other hand, had barely moved. She was bent over her desk, books and parchment stacked around her as she poured over their contents and occasionally scribbled down notes. Hermione found herself watching. She glanced up every so often, staring at the top of Pansy’s head. She wanted to ask her about the curse, about the case, about whatever she was finding in the book she seemed so absorbed in. Hermione stood and made her way over. After yesterday, she was determined to make this work. 

Pansy finally looked up when Hermione was in front of her desk. “Granger?”

Feeling a tad nervous but wanting to get out of the Ministry, Hermione grabbed at the first suggestion that came to mind. 

“Do you, er, d’you want to grab a coffee?”

Pansy paused, finding Hermione’s gaze. “Coffee?”

“Yes, to talk about the case. It’s just, the filtered stuff here is pretty rubbish, so I—”

“Alright,” Pansy cut in. 

“—thought we could—oh. Good, yeah,” Hermione said. 

Pansy pushed aside her book and began pulling her coat on. “I could use a break anyways.”

Hermione hurried to catch up as they walked together. She pulled her coat tighter against the chill and tucked her arms in her pockets. 

“Have you found anything useful?” she asked.

“Some,” Pansy said. “I’ve dealt with a few familial curses before, this was one was particularly powerful.”

“Right,” Hermione agreed, willing her legs to go faster. “I did some reading this morning and I don’t think Lucius Malfoy was involved in the curse itself.”

“Of course not,” Pansy laughed. “Lucius is a spiteful bastard, but not to his own family.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. She figured as much. “But it couldn’t be Dolohov.”

“Clearly.”

Hermione resisted a scoff. She knew familial curses could only affect those who shared blood with its caster. 

“Could be any of the Lestranges,” she added. “Or anyone, really, seeing as half of them married cousins, or second cousins twice-removed.”

Pansy glanced at her from the corner of her eye, unmoved. “Do you think all Purebloods practice incest, Granger?”

Hermione scoffed. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, but I had you for a moment, didn’t it?”

Hermione laughed, thankful for the easing of tension. She almost pushed Pansy on the arm. Instead, she found herself gravitating towards Pansy as they walked. Later, while the steam from their mugs rose lazily between them, Pansy leaned in over the table.

“Why do you like this place so much?” she asked.

“Chairs are cozy,” Hermione shrugged. “Coffee is decent.”

Pansy glanced around the shop, taking it in. Her eyes landed on a looming portrait hung across from them. “Isn’t the odd painting of the Queen a bit on the nose?” 

Hermione turned to stare. “I dunno, maybe they’re keeping up appearances.”

Pansy laughed and Hermione couldn’t help her easy grin. Pansy smelt nice, she realized. A little woodsy, a touch of floral. Was it her hair? She stared at it for a beat, wondering what it would feel like running between her fingers. 

They eventually wound their way back to talking about the case. Pansy knew a great deal about familial curses, which shouldn’t have surprised Hermione, but still somehow did. She theorised it was likely Rodolphus Lestrange who initially cast it. He had been captured over a year after the war’s end and potentially was in hiding with Dolohov beforehand. By the time Hermione and Pansy made their way back to the Ministry, Hermione was admittedly glad Pansy was working with her. 

The next week moved in a familiar blur. Hermione and Pansy continued working with the items they had, while Harry continued to disappear from his office for an hour here and there. By Monday, Hermione had moved her ever-growing stack of books into the shared space after it was put back together. It was easier to glance up across the table and ask Pansy a question, or clarify something about her reading, than walk across the Department to get to her. A few times Pansy caught her staring and she’d slide her gaze elsewhere, pretending to be deep in thought. She ignored the flush that climbed up her neck when it happened. 

Pansy also started accompanying her to Hilltop every afternoon. A familiar banter emerged between the two of them, and while Pansy was still as brash as ever, it was a little less cutting. Sometimes, Hermione even made Pansy laugh. It was easy, in those moments, to pretend Pansy was just someone she worked with. 

“Gods, didn’t know I’d return to find you two hens clucking about,” Draco announced the day he came back to work. “Have you managed to decipher which one of my mad-fucking relatives tried to slice my arm off?”

“Could be all of them,” Pansy answered.

“Yes, I have rather disappointed the family, haven’t it?” he said, settling into the chair next to Pansy. 

Hermione didn’t reply. She stared at Draco’s hand, angry red cuts slicing down his knuckles and disappearing past his sleeves. Draco found her eyes.

“Don’t go soft on me, Granger. I’m fine.” 

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said. 

Draco blinked, taken aback by the brief moment of sincerity. “You two seem to be doing alright.”

Hermione tucked a curl out of the way, avoiding Pansy’s gaze. “We’ve made some progress.”

“Good,” Draco leaned back, “let’s hear it.”

-

When Friday evening dawned, Hermione was back on Ginny’s sofa, two glasses into a crisp white. Luna and Neville were already there when she arrived and both Harry and Ron joined soon after. Ginny had long stopped complaining about being the constant host and instead accepted the revolving door of stray Gryffindors that intruded on her and Luna. To everyone’s delight, even George decided to join them, top-shelf Firewhisky in hand. Hermione grinned at her friends as George did the rounds, topping up everyone’s mismatched cups. Ginny had lit a hundred candles and the flat felt warm, Hermione a little giddy.

“Alright all,” Neville stood, nervously grinning. “I’ve got to head.”

“Bit early for bedtime, Nev,” Ron teased.

Neville chuckled and wiped his palms against his trousers. “Actually Ron, I’ve got a date tonight.”

“No!” Ginny gasped.

George slapped Neville heartily on the back. “Neville, you absolute dog. Go get her.”

“It’s Hannah, isn’t it?” Ginny asked. “Tell me it’s Hannah.”

“I should’ve known,” Ron said, “you’ve combed your bloody hair, Nev.”

Ginny, Ron, and George followed Neville to the floor, peppering him with questions and encouragement. Neville awkwardly held them at bay while he laughed, trying his best to escape. Hermione stayed put and sunk farther into the sofa, smiling as she stared up at the wall of Quidditch paraphernalia. Luna drifted to the kitchen to put the tea on. 

“Had a good week, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied sleepily.

“Food good at St Mungo’s?”

“What?” Harry said, suddenly alert.

Hermione stretched her arms over the back of the sofa, imagining the colour draining from Harry’s face. 

“Just asked if the food was any good at St Mungo’s. You’ve spent enough lunch hours there recently.”

Harry sat up. Rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Fucking hell.”

Hermione felt a little bad. A little. Harry sounded wary and cautious but relieved all at the same time. 

“Do you like him, Harry?”

She heard him exhale softly, imagined him raking hair back from his face. 

“I do.”

“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Hermione prodded.

“Don’t tell Ron,” Harry whispered. 

Hermione softened, dropping her teasing tone. “I won’t. He’d come around though, really.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “maybe.”

“Are you two…?”

Harry groaned. “Is nothing sacred?”

Hermione slapped her palm over her mouth, stifling her laugh. She hit her nose in the process and laughed harder.

“I’m pleased for you, Harry,” she managed between silent gasps, “I swear.”

Harry moved from his chair and shoved Hermione over on the sofa until there was room for him to lie down beside her. His mass of messy black hair tangled with hers and she turned to her side to face him. Harry was watching her closely, eyes betraying his vulnerability in the dim light. They could still hear Ron’s cheers faintly from the front door. 

“You mean it, ‘Mione?”

“I mean it, Harry.”

He gripped her hand and the two of them laid quietly for a moment, absorbing the weight of the moment. Hermione felt a rush of joy for her oldest friend. His happiness meant the world to her. She glanced as Harry shifted and peered back down at her.

“This won’t affect you working with him, will it?”

“No, Harry.” 

Harry settled, his head lolling to the side. “He’s glad to be on the case with you and Pansy, you know.”

“Of course he is,” Hermione grinned, “two against one now.”

“He says you’re all getting along alright. You and Pansy, too,” Harry suggested.

Hermione paused, the notion of Draco sharing information with Harry twisting something in her gut. 

“What does that mean?” 

“I dunno, he mentioned the two of you seem to be on good terms. He said you even brought Pansy coffee the other day.”

She had – brought Pansy coffee, that is. It was Thursday afternoon. Pansy was caught up in a meeting and missed their walk to Hilltop. She brought Draco one too, rolling her eyes at his arched brow when she placed it in front of him. Pansy smiled when she took hers. One of those rare smiles that wasn’t laced with malice, softening the edges around impossibly dark green eyes. 

“Well,” Hermione tried, realizing Harry was waiting for a response, “I guess I’d rather not argue my way through the rest of the case. Seems easier not to make it worse.”

The sound of the front door closing interrupted Harry’s response. They both sat up, listening as Ginny, Ron, and George trailed back in. Hermione sat silently for the next hour, letting the conversation flow over her head. She tried to still her mind from delving into every fraction of meaning from what Draco had told Harry. She told herself it didn’t matter, he wasn’t seeing anything, because there was nothing to see.

-

On the next Tuesday afternoon, fake sun peering through the underground windows of the back office, Hermione held Draco’s gaze. He had been watching her. Watching her watch Pansy. He held her gaze too long, bold. His lips disappeared into a thin line. Hermione wondered if Harry had told him about their conversation. 

If Pansy noticed, she didn’t show it. She worked and chatted easily with the two of them, catching a smile from Hermione now and then with a quick comment. 

Pansy eventually excused herself and Hermione’s eyes trailed after her. Draco let the silence lull between them for a few minutes before he pounced. She could sense the change in his posture, the slight lean, the tugging corners of his mouth. She debated trying to throw an excuse at him to leave, but Draco was quicker.

“Granger,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk about whatever it is you have in mind,” she replied, eyes on her work. 

“I see what you’re doing with Pansy.”

Hermione’s quill caught on parchment, a streak of ink scratching across the page. 

“Not the slightest idea what you’re referring to, Malfoy.”

“You’re a terrible seducer, Granger,” he continued, brushing past her claim. “You rush to smile too quickly. It makes you seem eager.”

“Excuse me for getting along,” she grumbled.

Draco smirked. “Oh, it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“I’m not looking for your advice, Draco, or even your comments for that matter.”

He showed his teeth in a grin, all coy. “Pansy usually likes more of a chase. Though I admit, whatever you’re doing does seem to be working.”

Quill forgotten, hand smearing black, she pushed her notes aside. She sized Draco up for a moment, passing quiet judgement before her arms crossed in front of her chest. 

“What’re you on about?” 

He chuckled, leaning his elbows on the table. “All coffee shops and smiles now. How long will that last?”

Hermione shifted her weight against the chair, growing steadily uncomfortable. His banter carried an edge that made her wary.

“I’m not interested in your teasing anymore, Draco. I have work to do. Go harass elsewhere. Maybe Nancy will take your bait.”

“No, I’m serious this time,” Draco countered. She realized with a start that he was. 

“I said I don’t want your advice.”

“I’m not offering it."

Exasperated, Hermione shook her head. “What is this about, then?” 

Draco laced his fingers together, turning them to pop out his knuckles. Hermione tried not to stare at the newly healed scars. When she looked up, his face was closer.

“I see the way you look at her, Granger. Saw it weeks ago. Did you know your pupils dilate when she stares back at you?”

“And?” Hermione goaded, uninterested in Draco’s game.

“I don’t like it.”

“That’s not really up to you, Draco,” Hermione sighed. “She’s my colleague,” she added as an afterthought, as if the statement would cover her. 

“I’ve never made you blush that way, though, have I?”

Eyes wide, Hermione let her scoff escape through her nose. She hadn’t seen Draco like this in months. But she was in no mood for his temper, his warnings. She felt her own frustration rear in response. 

“Good fucking Merlin, I’m nice to this woman and suddenly you, Ginny, and Harry are all jumping down my throat.”

“Leave Potter out of this,” Draco said, voice like ice, any thread of jest slipping from his tone. 

Hermione bristled. “You can’t be serious. He’s _my_ friend, Draco. You can’t even say his name at work.”

“This isn’t about Potter,” he hissed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m bloody sure, Granger,” he snarled. “This is about _my_ friend this time. There’s something up between the two of you, and I…,” he struggled to push the words out, “I’ll not…I’ll not have you use her.” Like last time. The rest of his sentence hung between them, left unsaid. He didn’t have to, his jaw tense, the muscle jumping.

Hermione felt like a blow had been delivered to her chest.

“Use her?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually!” Maybe she did, a little. 

“You devastated her, back then, you know.”

Hermione was on her feet. His mention of Shell Cottage was like pushing a finger into a dark bruise. Pressure built behind her eyes and she sucked in a breath. “You’re absolutely mad.”

“Am I? Parvati still asks about you, you know. Asks _Pansy_ about you.” He stared at his nails, waiting to deliver the next blow, knowing he had the upper hand now. “What was it that Potter said about you recently? Something about a revolving door, dusting your lips with a lover and discarding them like a napkin when you’re done. You’ve already done it to her once.”

She refused to believe him. Shaking her head, she marched forward. “Draco, if you wanted to be protective of your friend, fine. Be protective. But don’t be such a fucking arsehole about it.”

“And here I thought we were getting along.”

Hermione stormed out of the back room. She felt betrayed – bitterly so. Had Harry really said that? And Draco? The tentative friendship between them felt stretched thin, seconds from snapping under his harsh words.

She wouldn’t let herself cry, not while she was still in the office. She careened through the grid of desks, bumping her leg against pulled out chairs as she went. The edges of her vision began to blur as she fled to the lift. She wiped madly at the corners of her eyes while she waited, thankful when the lift creaked open in time for her to push inside.

-

Her flat enveloped her like a cocoon. Crookshanks mewled miserably as she scooped him from his little nest of blankets and buried her face in his fur. Orange strands stuck to her cheeks and she sighed, letting him settle against her. She had to clear her head. She had to think this through logically.

Hermione curled up on her sofa, pulling Crookshanks with her. Draco’s words circled her mind mercilessly. She tried to batter away the impending accusations. Had she really been guilty of all those things? Did Harry think that too? She wondered what else he had shared with Draco in their intimacy. An image of Parvati invaded her thoughts and she squeezed her eyes shut against it. She had barely thought of her in weeks. Did this mean what they said was true?

Perhaps she could admit, in the quiet of her home, that she had been flippant with others before. But there was no way Pansy could think that. Could she call what happened between them flippant? Desperate, maybe. A last-ditch attempt to feel something before the end. She didn’t want to think about Pansy anymore.

Rubbing her face with the back of her sleeve, she dug out a small mobile used mostly for takeaway. Her fingers punched in the memorized number as she waited out the crackling rings. 

“Darling?”

Her mother’s voice, gravelly with sleep, came from the other side.

“Hi mum,” she breathed, the wave of emotion she held back threatening to overflow at the comforting voice. 

“Is everything okay?” Her mum’s voice sharpened, shaking off sleep.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I know it’s late there.” 

Hermione imagined her mum sitting up in bed, checking the flickering alarm on the bedside table, the soft snores of her dad rattling alongside the aircon. 

“It’s only eleven, dear. Just fell into bed an hour ago.”

Hermione nodded, her nails chewed between her teeth on instinct. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Not at all,” she clucked. “You sure you’re alright? Are you at work?”

She heard the apprehension in her mum’s voice. Besides their bi-weekly calls, she hadn’t called her out of the blue in ages. Hermione adjusted Crookshanks in her lap and took in a long breath.

“Er, I’m at home now. I…just had an issue at work, that’s all. You, er, remember me talking about Draco?”

“The blonde one,” her mum added. “The unfriendly boy from school.”

Hermione couldn’t help her laugh, her fingers kneading through Crookshanks' fur. 

“That’s the one.”

“Darling,” her mum encouraged, “tell me what happened.”

The words fell quickly, stumbling over herself as she tried to figure out where to start. She told her about Pansy all those years ago, about working with her now, about Draco, and even what Harry had said. Her mum listened quietly on the other end, the occasional sounds of a kettle and a spoon against ceramic coming through the receiver. 

“Do you think he meant to hurt you?” her mum asked, once Hermione finished with a sniff.

“Which one?” Hermione laughed, the sound pitiful.

Another cluck of a tongue. “I don’t think Harry would have said those things about you. Maybe he expressed some concern, but he cares too deeply for you to hurt you like that. And Draco, it sounds like misplaced concern.”

Hermione sighed in response. 

“And this Pansy—” her mum started.

“Don’t,” Hermione muttered.

“—it sounds like you care for her.” 

“I don’t know, mum,” she admitted.

“It’s alright not to know, darling.”

She let herself be covered in the softness of her mum’s voice, wishing desperately she could reach through the phone and hug her. 

“What do I do?” she murmured.

“Start small,” her mum instructed. “Talk to Draco, settle what happened. He likely regrets what he said.”

She agreed, allowing her mum coach her through a few scenarios. Hermione’s attention faded in an out, but she wasn’t ready to hang up. When she finally did, after a few whispered I love you’s, the physical distance between them felt endless. She fussed putting Crookshanks back in his nest of quilts, paced her flat for a few more minutes, and finally pulled her coat back on. 

She walked back to work, a few hours still left in the day. No rain fell this time, but the brisk air did its job. Light wind filtered through hair and she breathed in the mixing smells of the city. She already missed the sound of her mum’s voice. It had been over a year since they visited last. The flight was long and they had a hard time getting away from their practice. Hermione understood. She hadn’t gone to them in even longer. Getting an international portkey was a tiring process, but even more, she struggled seeing them in their new home. She knew they liked Brisbane—liked the warm sweltering weather, the wide river that snaked around the bustling city, the friends they had made there since their lives in London were snatched out from under them. Almost six years had passed since their memories were restored, but still she could tell being in London unsettled them when they came. She wondered what muddled memories plagued them. Australia was familiar to them now, easy. Still, she missed them. 

When the tears came again, she let them. The ache for her parents twisted amongst her frustration at Draco, the hurt from Harry, the confusion in her own heart. She was going to talk to him. She was going to face Draco and make them have another conversation, civilly this time.

Keeping her head down, she finally made it into the Ministry, glad she had yet to run into anyone on her way to the Department. She bustled through the quiet hallways.

Straight into Pansy. Three very hot coffees crushed between them, paper cups upended in the press. Pansy’s gasp of surprise was followed by the sting of hot water against her hands as Hermione stared at the knocked over and spilling cups against black tile. 

“Merlin’s tits, Granger,” Pansy laughed, shaking off her arm. The laugh caught in her throat when Hermione took a quick step back. Old tears still stung her eyes. Pansy’s gaze darted around her face, the coffees forgotten. 

“Gods, Hermione—” 

“It’s alright,” Hermione stopped her. “I’m sorry about the drinks.”

Pansy glanced around the hallway, Hermione instinctively knowing it was empty but wouldn’t remain so for long. Pansy crooked her hand into Hermione’s arm, steering her into a quiet hall that was rarely occupied. 

Hermione turned until she faced Pansy again, letting her search her face.

“Did something happen? Is everything alright?”

The crying unnerved Pansy. Hermione could see it in her gaze. She used her sleeve against her face and shrugged.

“Draco and I argued, but it’s fine.” She didn’t feel like divulging more, didn’t want to tell her about what was said. 

Pansy’s brow arched as if surprised that what was usually a common occurrence could have led to this. Hermione thought she saw her jaw harden.

“That’s…” Pansy searched for the right thing to say, gnawing on the edge of her lip.

“I said it’s fine,” Hermione insisted, even as a hiccup escaped.

“Here, sorry.” Pansy gently pulled her forward, dragging Hermione the short distance between them. Her arms felt alien around her even as they closed. 

Hermione held her body stiffly in Pansy’s grasp. But as Pansy moved to release her, signalling the awkward hug was over, Hermione gripped back this time. If Pansy was surprised, she didn’t show it. Her hand came to rest on the small of Hermione’s back. Eyes closed, pressing her face against the softness of Pansy’s collar, Hermione breathed her in. It was too intimate, but in that moment, nothing could have pulled her away. Anger at Draco mixed headily with the smell of Pansy.

By some miracle, Pansy’s hand began rubbing small soothing circles on Hermione’s back. Hermione lay against Pansy’s chest and let herself be comforted, Pansy’s soft breaths the only sound in the hall. Hermione was angry—the front of her robes soaked in coffee and the damned soymilk Draco insisted on adding—but she also felt secure. Brazen almost. 

She leaned back, wanting to see Pansy’s face. Pansy’s eyes held a myriad of emotion. Confusion, concern, and a flicker of something else held in her gaze. 

“You’re alright,” Pansy murmured, palms coming up to frame Hermione’s face, thumbs carefully wiping away fresh tears. Hermione nodded into her hands. She stared up at her face, let the achingly familiar movements wash over her, hands itching to touch her. 

Reaching up felt like nothing at all, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hermione drove away all rational thought away as she did so. Her palm found the back of Pansy’s neck, fingers tracing over soft skin. Pansy’s breathing had stilled as Hermione tilted Pansy’s head down, leaning her forehead against hers. Had she been thinking about this? Pansy’s presence had been everywhere in her mind lately, filling up the cracks, settling like dust in the corners. Even now, with Pansy’s hair ghosting across her cheeks, she needed more. Worried that a single word would break the spell between them, Hermione tilted her head, let her lips find Pansy’s. 

The answering press of Pansy’s mouth against hers was all it took. She unravelled. She had seen this in her dreams a hundred times, a mirror image. She would have laughed if her breath wasn’t wrapped up in another. Pansy’s hands were on her jaw, her neck, fingers twirling in the hair that curled tight against the nape. Hermione sought out her lip, tugging it between hers. Like a lit fuse, Pansy emitted a soft groan, one Hermione swallowed. A thud of warning began to build behind her forehead but she ignored it. Her tongue pressed forward, heavy with longing. Draco was right, she wanted to take.

With a lurch, Hermione broke them apart. Pansy blinked in surprise – mouth still parted, lips flushed. 

“Hermione—” Pansy breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione murmured, “I shouldn’t have—”

“Do you want to leave?” Pansy asked in a rush. “To mine, I mean?”

The question stopped Hermione in her tracks. She stared up at Pansy, unsettled. If she stared too long, she’d be caught. 

“No, this was a mistake.” Hermione tried to put space between them. What was she doing? What had she been thinking?

“If Draco said anything,” Pansy supplied, “don’t listen to him, alright? You don’t need to apologise now, it’s behind us.”

Hermione stilled, realizing the two of them were talking past each other. “Apologise?” she said aloud, confused. 

Pansy slowly nodded. Hermione stared, waiting.

“You don’t know?” Pansy asked. Her brow furrowed, lines forming on the edges.

Pinned by her gaze, no reply came when Hermione opened her mouth.

“Granger,” Pansy laughed in disbelief. “You can’t be serious? It’s been seven years. You didn’t reach out, not even once.”

Hermione countered, reeling. “You could have reached out to me, Pansy.” 

Pansy’s gaze cooled. “You know I couldn’t.”

“That’s…that’s not true,” Hermione tried.

“Bill said you wouldn’t let them host Christmas at the cottage that first year. Were you worried you’d see me there, Granger?”

Hermione stiffened. She could feel her body fighting. She hated this, hated every mention of the war, of Shell Cottage, of those first bleary months afterwards. Anger and guilt curled tight in her.

“There wasn’t a reason to reach out.” 

“No?” Pansy asked, lips pressed in distaste. Her bright earnestness had shifted into something fierce. “What about the things you promised me, the night you left? The things you whispered to me in the dark?”

Hermione met her gaze, a bitter taste in her mouth. What had she promised? That they’d find each other at the end of it all, that if they escaped the yawning darkness that came for her, Hermione would find her way back. But those were empty promises, things muttered under her breath to soothe the jagged edges of her heart. She’d barely believed she’d make it out alive. But she had wanted, those nights shared with Pansy after their first meeting in the kitchen, to believe she would. To believe something was waiting for her at the end, something warm and soft, that encased her in long arms and held her tightly against the dread. 

Pansy was right, too. She couldn’t face her after it all. She couldn’t bear the thought of staring into those eyes again, wide with want, with accusations. Pansy had been a distraction that month at Shell Cottage, a brightly lit match that caught her attention and soothed the pain rooted deep in her gut. She was a place to store her anger, to unleash her misery. And tucked into her arms in the dark, listening to the sound of waves crashing and dragging against sand, the smell of sea lavender and salt drifting in through opened windows, she had felt comforted into believing everything was alright. Pansy had offered herself then, and Hermione had taken.

The sharpness of the memory threatened to bow her. Hermione dug her nails deeper into the pads of her palm. She couldn’t bear this, needed to drive Pansy away. 

“I didn’t owe you anything then, and I don’t owe you anything now.”

“Is that what you think? Hermione, you took from me—hope, comfort, love—everything, when I had _nothing_ to give. So what was I to you, really?”

“You were nothing to me.” She knew it was a lie. From the searing look on Pansy’s face, she knew it was a lie too.

“I don’t believe that for a second. Deal with your shit, Hermione.”

“I…”

“You instigated this,” Pansy spat accusingly. Her hands were in her hair, dragging black strands from her face. “Gods, you’re maddening.”

“It’s not that easy,” Hermione breathed.

“Why not?!” Pansy demanded.

Hermione screwed up her face. Nothing could ever be easy between them. The past weeks had lulled her into a false sense they ever could be. Before the cottage, before that blur of a month, their history ran deep and ugly. The cottage was nothing but a reprieve from it all. What if she had reached out – sought out Pansy? She would've had to face Ron’s glowering looks, Harry still too much of a shadow back then to notice. And if Skeeter got hold of that story? She wondered if Pansy thought her a coward for it.

“I thought you’d contact me after my mum’s trial,” Pansy said. Hermione heard the grief carefully hidden in her tone. 

“I had friends to bury,” she replied, hoping it hurt her, feeling her own lip tremble. 

“I did too.” 

Hermione tore her eyes from Pansy’s. Her breathing was erratic, coming in sharp pulls. Pansy’s taste was still on her tongue. If she blinked she could still feel her robes beneath her hands when her fingers dug into the fabric. 

Pansy’s voice cut through her pretend. “What did Draco say to you?” 

Hermione shook her head wildly. She thumbed the edge of her wand through her robes instinctively. 

“Hermione,” Pansy said sharply, “don’t.”

Hermione turned swollen and angry eyes to Pansy, confused. “I wouldn’t…” 

She had to leave. Pansy’s presence was a beacon to her, pulling her under, sucking her deep beneath a swell of emotion she wasn’t sure she’d be able to crawl out of. Turning, she caught another glance of Pansy’s face. Sullen, gaze full of disbelief. Hermione saw pain reflected there, the hazy light from the hall catching against the paleness of her skin. She couldn’t answer her questions, couldn’t dig the truth out even if she tried.

So she fled.


	6. The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter! six! take! two! (I added a scene and fixed a few things from the last version I posted, v v sorry about that). And a huge thank you to Farren for beta'ing xx
> 
> Song recs for the chapter: “Twice” by Little Dragon; "Beautiful Feeling" by PJ Harvey; “A Better Time to Meet” by Adrienne Lenker; "More" by Calper & Ayelle.

Draco’s shoulders were hunched close to his ears when she approached, neck bent and blonde hair spilling forward over a spread of parchment. Right where she had left him. 

He turned at the sound of her approach. His eyes were guarded as he nodded at her before peering closer. 

“Good gods.”

Hermione lifted her chin in greeting, dragging out the chair across from him. She imagined she looked just about as bad as she felt. 

“Granger…you look hellish.”

“I know.” 

Draco made a show of putting down his quill and sweeping his work aside before he focused his attention back to her.

“Look,” he said, “I was harsh earlier.” 

“I think I made a mistake, Draco,” Hermione said, hands tightly pressed in her lap to keep them from shaking. 

“Well, you certainly didn’t have to _leave_ , but I think we can move forward amicably despite our earlier—Granger, are you _crying_?”

Hermione waved him off. “Just having an existential crisis, I’ll be alright.”

Discomfort drew Draco’s brow lower as he drummed his fingers against the table.

“I admit I might have come on too strong—”

“I shouldn’t have kissed her,” Hermione said abruptly. 

Draco grimaced. “Yes, well, this is hardly time for a confession, but I think I already outlined my thoughts on your past foray.” 

A muddled groan escaped Hermione’s throat. “No, Malfoy. Here. Today,” she bent, cradling her head in her hands, “on my way to see you.”

“Wait,” Draco’s hand stilled as he pressed forward, “what’re you on about? Are you having a laugh?” 

Hermione shook her head miserably. 

Draco whistled low. “Of all the terrible snogging jokes I’ve made about you, here we finally are.”

“I said some things I shouldn’t,” Hermione whispered, ignoring Draco’s incredulous look.

Draco’s voice came out sharp but quiet. “What did you say?”

She fixed her gaze on the ceiling, thumb nervously rubbing across her nails. She felt cornered, like she had fallen and landed on her arse with only Draco Malfoy to mop up the mess. Even so, Draco tried not to interrupt her as she stumbled through what had happened since she left, stopping only after a, “then she invited me back to hers—"

He snorted. “Pansy asked you over?” 

Hermione shot him a look and he quickly conceded. “Sorry, sorry, carry on.”

By the time she reached the end, Draco had paled, one shined leather shoe bouncing against the tile. Hermione waited for him to berate her. Instead, he looked torn. When he still didn’t speak, she sighed, feeling very small. 

“I did mean to get a hold of her. I…I meant to.”

“Granger,” Draco exhaled, “I didn’t mean to cause a larger issue here. It’s her you should be talking to, not me.”

“I, er, wasn’t very good at that the first time,” she managed.

Draco grunted, fingers now pressed against his lips. “I should have been more careful with what I said. I regret being…needlessly cruel.”

Hermione swallowed and Draco quickly cut her off. “No, no—no more crying.”

She allowed a strangled laugh. “Gods, I’m sick of it.”

Draco’s voice softened. “I’ve always found it a useless endeavour myself. Now, I suppose we need to go about figuring out what you’re going to do.”

Hermione glanced around the room. “Beyond wallowing?” Her hands carefully pulled apart the tissue balled up in her palm, unsure when it had been pressed there. Draco hummed in response.

“I’ve got a really nice red at home,” she murmured. 

“That’s the spirit,” Draco said. “Woo her back with a little merlot, though Pansy’s always been more of a malbec fan I suppose. But in all seriousness, what do you plan to say to her?”

Hermione tried to stretch out some of the tension in her neck as she mulled over his question. “I don’t know, Draco. I need time to think, to pull apart our conversation, find a way to fix this.”

“Hmm, I think not,” Draco said. “You can’t reason your way out of this one, Granger. I think you’re scared.” 

Exhausted, Hermione drooped back into her seat. She recognised when Draco thought he was on to something. She also couldn’t face going back to her flat just yet to brood on her own or dragging Ginny into this mess. 

“Go on then.”

“I think I was wrong about you earlier,” Draco suggested. He crossed his legs and leaned back, brushing at the wool slacks visible where his robes cut away. “There’s more going on. You didn’t take up the offer to leave with her. I think, dare I say it, you feel something for her.”

Hermione twitched at his words. She didn’t know how to tell him that it didn’t matter either way. How could she explain that memories of Pansy were tied too closely with things she wasn’t willing to touch? That when she slept, vile dreams floated to the surface, rotting and bloated. Memories of her scar; the acrid smell of burning flesh, her own guttural groans rattling around her head. They’d shift into the bittersweet memory of Pansy’s body on hers, lips pressed warm against the newly healed scar, covering her, tongue tracing the indents. 

“I can’t, Draco.”

“You can.” 

He watched her closely, taking in her rising chest and nervous hands. “Ah,” he said, “you think the pain goes away because you hide from it. It doesn’t, Granger. Trust me, I’ve tried.” 

“How’d you do it?” she asked, almost breathless, leaning into the strange closeness that surrounded them.

Draco shrugged. “Years of realizing the worst has already happened. We’re not so different from each other, Granger. Except I’ve worked near Potter for a lot longer than you’ve worked with Pansy. I spent the first few years anticipating something bad, building up coping mechanisms to protect myself. I finally realized it can’t ever be that bad again. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Hermione felt his eyes on her intently as she nodded into her lap. “It’s complicated,” she tried.

“It’ll always be complicated,” Draco countered. “But those memories won’t disappear, Granger. It seems like you’ve done a half-decent job at trying to run from them, but they’ll never leave you.”

She understood. She had done a good job at hiding, at least until lately. Avoidance, working herself to the bone, surrounding herself with friends so she was never truly alone. It had worked brilliantly until suddenly it hadn’t. 

“She’ll kill me for saying this,” Draco said, “but she cares for you too.”

Hermione lifted her face. “Not after today.”

Draco smirked. “You’d be surprised.”

-

It was Draco, soon after, who ushered her from the Ministry. Harry was out on a case and the office was blissfully empty. Hermione was thankful for it. She wasn’t sure if she could face Harry’s questions. She needed time to process, to lick her wounds and regroup. Draco’s words were a heavy weight on her chest and she wanted space to breathe. She had promised before she left, hand steadied against one of the large fireplaces lining the Ministry’s halls, to talk to Pansy. She wasn’t sure there was much of a choice in the matter. Either she cut her losses and dropped the case, or she faced it head on. 

Finding Pansy turned out to be harder than she expected. Harry swung open the door to their back office the next morning, muttering with a hand in his hair that he needed to borrow Pansy for an emergency case for the day. Hermione nodded stiffly, Draco’s eyes sliding between the two of them. When he moved to leave, Hermione darted to her feet, chair skidding behind her.

“I’ll see you out.”

Harry, wholly confused, shrugged. 

The moment the door was closed behind them, Hermione paused him with a quick hand on the arm.

“When will you be back? I need to talk to Pansy.”

Thinking she was referring to the case, Harry shook his head. “Not sure, but if things go well tonight, we’re all going to the Leaky after. It, er, can’t wait till tomorrow?”

He was stalling. She watched as his eyes shifted, losing the cool auror indifference he had mastered over the past years. He always slipped around her.

“Harry?” she asked, eyes narrowing, “what do you know?”

In a quick breath, Harry exhaled. “Pansy Owled me last night. She asked to be taken off the case.”

Hermione reeled. “She can’t.”

“That’s what I said,” Harry agreed, “but she was adamant. Said we could borrow Bill if we really needed it.”

Jaw working loose until she felt it click, Hermione grit her teeth. “I—”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” Harry rushed to add. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if anything happened, but it’s not my business. But I really need her on this case, ‘Mione.”

Hermione nodded, mind already working. 

“I’ll talk to her, Harry. It’ll be fine.”

-

It was odd being at the Leaky with no friends around. She had already been there an hour, sipping her drink quietly at a table and smiling at Hannah when she bustled past. The whole day had already been a write-off. Draco had sensed her nerves, tried to ease the tension with a few misplaced jabs. But she watched the clock incessantly throughout the day, flicking through her research with less enthusiasm than usual. She had quickly pulled something else on at home before making her way to the pub.

Now two drinks in, the skin around the top of her hips pebbling from exposure when she moved in the uncomfortable jeans Ginny had lent her, she was feeling the nerves.

She saw Pansy before she saw her. Still in her work clothes, Williamson had his arm slapped around her shoulders, leaning up so he could reach. She watched as Pansy politely laughed at his comment, the smile not reaching her eyes. Even in the faint lighting, she found shadows under her eyes, along her jaw, hair raked back from her face. Hermione’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth.

Hermione waved as Williamson spotted her, his lopsided grin flashing. Pansy’s eyes followed. If she was surprised to see her, she hid it well.

“Hermione!” Williamson called, “Brilliant! Did Harry tell you we’d be here?”

She returned his grin, pleased when he waved her over.

“Get a drink with us. Here, I’ll grab a round.” He wandered off into the press of bodies by the bar, following the few other aurors that came in behind them. 

Pansy stood where he left her, feet rooted to the floor. Hermione met her gaze, wishing she knew what the other was thinking. 

“Pansy,” she started, “listen, you can’t quit.”

Pansy shot a glance behind her at Williamson’s retreating form before turning back. Her fingers curled into her palm before she released them.

“Granger,” she hissed, “fuck off.”

Hermione’s mouth hung open like she’d been slapped. “Pansy, wait—”

Pansy had already turned on her heel, not waiting for Hermione’s response. She was deftly weaving past bodies, disappearing fast into the depths of the pub. Hermione scrambled to untangle herself from the chair, clumsily pushing past people where the crowds moved to swallow Pansy’s form.

“Pansy!” she shouted, offering quick apologies to those who grumbled when her elbow caught them in the back as she went. 

“Pansy can you wait?” 

“Fuck off!” 

The voice rose steadily ahead of her and Hermione huffed in frustration.

“Pansy, this is ridiculous! Can you just listen?” she called.

She collided with a warm body and let out a surprised yelp before stumbling back. Pansy was leering down at her.

“What’s ridiculous is you fucking _following_ me, Granger. I don’t want to talk. Get out.” Pansy was turning again.

She almost let her go. Almost let her slip away. But if she let her, she wasn’t sure she’d get the courage to do it again. In a moment of pure desperation, Hermione launched herself after Pansy and grabbed hold of her arm. Pansy grunted in surprise, suddenly pulled off-centre until she spun back around.

“Granger, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” She was tugging her arm back violently, shaking off her grip.

“Will you listen to me for a minute?” Hermione pleaded, her own frustration mounting. “I’m sorry, alright? Can you just stay fucking still for a minute so I can tell you I’m _sorry_?” she shouted as Pansy began moving again.

“Don’t you remember, Granger?” Pansy called over her shoulder, “We don’t owe each other anything.”

“I lied, okay?” She realized people were stepping back as Pansy stormed though, a gap of people opening up around them as Hermione tailed her though the expanse of the pub. “Which you’d know if you let me say sorry!”

“Go on then!” Pansy returned her shout, rounding on her. “Let’s hear it, Granger!”

“Fucking hell,” Hermione breathed. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Like very, truly sorry.”

She waited as Pansy stared at her, drawing out the silence. “Feel better?”

The twist of her mouth was cruel, her words sending a violent jolt down Hermione’s spine.

Almost growling, Hermione shook her head, forcing herself to choke out her thoughts. “No, listen. I meant to reach out, Pansy. I meant to reach out, but I was scared. And…and I was fucking sad, and angry, and I didn’t have room for a single other emotion so I shut you out and tried my best to forget. I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” Pansy hissed.

She couldn’t stop now, couldn’t push back down the anger she felt at herself, at the stupid situation she found herself in. 

“Is that what you want to hear, Pansy? That I was a fucking sad, broken person after the war? Did you picture me revelling in some victory? Pleased to see my own face in the bloody papers?”

“Granger, enough!”

“I just wanted to apologise!” Hermione shot back. 

With a startled noise caught in her throat, she felt Pansy’s hand wrap around her elbow, yanking her sideways. Faces turned up to stare at the scene they had created flew past as Pansy dragged her away.

“Will you just fucking _stop_?” Pansy grit out, fingers still tight on her arm. 

Hermione sucked back a breath, taking in the grim hallway Pansy had directed her to. Voices nearby picked up again and filled her ears with a steady din. 

“I don’t want you to quit,” Hermione said, begging Pansy to hear her.

Pansy’s arms crossed in front of her. “So this is about the case.”

“No,” Hermione groaned, “I mean, yes, but no. I was going to apologise anyways. I didn’t…I didn’t think you’d do this.”

“I’m not quitting, Granger,” she snarled. 

Hermione hesitated, their faces close. 

“You know what I mean. You can’t quit the case because of me,” she tried, hands shaking. “I’ll give you space, I’ll…I’ll be nothing but cordial. I’ll go back to working at my desk. Please, just don’t drop the case.”

Pansy’s eyes were pressed tightly shut and she released an unsteady breath. “I’m not doing this again.”

“Please.” Hermione moved to box her in, arms brushing against hers.

As if weighing Hermione’s words, Pansy scoffed, trying to push her aside. Hermione stood in front of her, eyes pleading. 

“Pansy, we need you on this case.” 

She felt Pansy’s exhale against her skin, heard the deep drag of her next breath. The sting of their fight fizzled between them until Pansy’s voice sounded raw when she spoke next.

“I’m not vital to the case, Granger. I explained this to Potter already. I’ve already asked Bill if he would—”

“That’s not true,” Hermione said.

“I’m off the case, Granger. End of story.”

Hermione’s hand moved back to Pansy’s arm, the skin warm beneath her palm.

“Pansy, please.”

Pansy’s eyes were on Hermione’s hand. Hermione held her breath, felt suspended for a moment. Her two drinks lurched in her stomach and she wished more than anything she could coax from Pansy one of the easy smiles she had become accustomed to the past weeks. The strain and pull between them felt too familiar but she didn’t let up her grip.

“Hermione,” Pansy finally ground out, her voice low, almost a whine, “you can’t do this to me.” 

Hermione forced herself to hold her gaze. She was gaining, little by little. Pansy’s indecision practically rolled off of her. Hermione saw her brow soften, watched for the telltale sign as Pansy’s hand scraped her hair back. 

“Pansy,” Hermione called softly, her name rolling off her tongue. Pansy was worrying the edge of her lip almost raw.

“It’ll be alright. I’ll buy you coffees for a week,” Hermione coaxed, trying not to stare at the curve in the bow of Pansy’s lip, throwing everything she had at the wall and praying something stuck. 

“A month,” Pansy bit out.

“Yes, a month, fine,” Hermione agreed, almost in disbelief. 

“Maybe longer,” Pansy tried.

“Longer, yeah,” Hermione promised. “It’ll be fine,” she added.

The tension eased around them, bathing Hermione in relief. She was almost giddy at Pansy’s response, hanging on to the reluctance in Pansy’s tone. They found their way back to Williamson and the other aurors soon after. She was almost positive none of them had witnessed what took place between them at the back of the pub, but they pushed drinks into their hands anyways and carried on as before. Harry had joined them in the meantime, grinning at the sight of Pansy and Hermione standing side by side. Hermione wondered if they looked like two ghosts hovering on the edge. Harry scattered her thoughts when he dumped galleons on the bar, announcing he was getting the next round, cheersing to a successful day in the field.

Hermione found herself feeling lighter. A tentative truce in place, she allowed herself to relax. Though Pansy mostly ignored her, Hermione listened in as Pansy made those around her laugh. She teased Foley and Hayes, leaning behind Hermione at the bar. Hermione felt like they were dancing around each other, careful not to come too close. Still, Pansy’s hands sometimes found small ways to touch her – a press against her shoulder, a hand on her hip when she brushed past. Each accidental sweep of her fingers sent shudders up her spine, heath gathering in her chest with each sip of her gin. 

After the fifth round, the group finally tumbled out of the pub, the sound of chatter and creaking floors behind them. Foley announced he was taking the next day off. Harry groaned, trying to stop the rest of them from thinking they were off the hook from work. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Granger?” Pansy asked, finally acknowledging her. 

Hermione nodded, squinting against the orange glow cast sideways from the streetlights. As the others slowly drifted off in their own direction, Harry leaned over and gave Hermione a quick hug around her shoulders. 

“Get home safe!” he called to the two of them, disappearing with a crack.

“I was going to floo,” Pansy offered.

Hermione stared up at a rare clear sky, the moon high and bright. “I was thinking of walking.”

“Alone?” 

“Got a wand, haven’t I?” she teased, pleased Pansy was still standing there. 

Pansy shrugged. “Want company?”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed, ignoring the clench between her ribs. She tried to still the happy thrum working its way through her body as she fell in beside Pansy. 

She kept her eyes mostly on the pavement as they walked. Conversation came easier than she expected, drinks loosening their tongues and soothing remaining tensions. Pansy asked about her work before the DMLE, and Hermione enticed a few stories from her about Gringotts. 

“It sounds like Bill misses you there,” she offered.

“I see him often enough,” Pansy said. “Fleur has conned me into dinner there almost once a week now.”

“Must be good to see the kids,” Hermione murmured. “I swear Victoire grows more than a few feet in weeks.”

Pansy hummed a response, and Hermione turned to catch the look on her face. It was one she hadn’t seen before. Warm, open, eyes soft.

“I’m actually Victoire’s godmother,” Pansy said, the words stilted as if she hadn’t said them aloud before.

Hermione almost tripped. “Really?” 

“Really,” she laughed. “Don’t look so shocked, Granger.”

Hermione sputtered and shook her head, cheeks colouring. “No, that’s…really sweet. I didn’t know.”

It was Pansy’s turn to look surprised. “Ginny never told you?”

“No,” Hermione said. 

Ginny hadn’t spoken of Pansy in years until recently. After the war, Hermione had heard her name spoken low in hushed conversations at the Burrow, whispers between Bill and Arthur. Another memory floated slowly to the surface. One of Ginny and Fleur, heads bent together while they stood in the Burrow’s kitchen, Fleur’s hand on her rounding stomach; Ginny’s smile, hand tentatively coming to press where Fleur pointed to another fluttering movement under her palm. Pansy’s name slipping into the conversation, the raise of Ginny’s brow. 

An ugly pull moved through her. How much had she missed in those early years? How much had she chosen not to see, surrounded by the haze of her own grief? 

“She’s lucky to have you,” Hermione finally said, aware of the silence growing between them, of the way Pansy was looking at her like she might crack where she stood. 

“I feel pretty lucky to have her, too,” Pansy added. “Though my hopes of making her into a Slytherin are fast decreasing.”

Hermione grinned, happy for the distraction. “She’ll absolutely be Gryffindor.”

“As I feared.”

Hermione couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “You’re a tosser, you know,” she said, reaching out to shove Pansy unceremoniously in the arm. Pansy leaned out of the way and avoided her easily, sending Hermione stumbling. Pansy’s arm caught her just as fast, steadying her.

“Have to be quicker than that, Granger,” she mused. Her hand moved to fold away one of Hermione’s stray curls, fingers trailing down the shell of her ear. 

Without thinking, Hermione tucked her cheek into Pansy’s palm, chasing the retreat of her hand. A distant part of her mind began sending off alarm bells. She was still for a moment, looking up at Pansy’s face. At the high bones in her cheeks, the strong line of her nose. Above her only the climbing brick of stacked homes. A few cars rumbled by and added to the hum of the city as Hermione settled into the realisation buzzing under her skin. She wanted her. Had wanted her for longer than she’d allowed herself to admit. 

But it was Pansy who lifted her face to hers, who tucked hand under her chin until Hermione’s neck stretched to reach. 

“This one is on you,” Hermione said, too close to look into her eyes.

“Just once,” Pansy breathed in response, nose brushing a line from her mouth to the soft skin behind her jaw. “Nothing but cordial tomorrow, right Granger?”

Hermione shuddered, a faint agreement passing her lips before Pansy’s mouth was on hers. She swam under the pressure of her lips, Pansy’s fingers in her hair – knotting curls in her hand and pulling Hermione’s head back. She groaned at each touch, slipping farther into oblivion. 

She felt the scratch of brick against her back, unsure when Pansy had pressed her tight against it. Fingers traced at stretches of skin, searching. Pansy was nipping at her jaw, teasing her mouth open. Gone was the softness of their earlier kiss. Pansy’s touch was demanding, hungry. The knowledge that this would complicate things further, might tip the balance of their agreement, edged into the fringes of Hermione’s consciousness. The thought was crowded out by her own breaths, panting into Pansy’s mouth. Pansy’s hands were light but firm over her. They pulled her flush, dipping over the soft curve of her waist, skimming as if familiarising herself again with the map of her body. 

“Hermione,” Pansy moaned, relief coating her voice. 

Hermione let her hands move on their own accord, twisting them into her hair, needing to feel the slip of it against her fingers. She couldn’t move past the way Pansy’s tongue dragged in her mouth, couldn’t focus on another coherent thought under the warmth of her lips. Addicted, Hermione deepened the kiss. Pansy responded with a moan pushed past teeth, stroking down Hermione’s back in a way that felt both reassuring and possessive. A thumb pressed absently at the hollow of her neck and Hermione hissed at the delicious pressure. 

“I’ll want more,” Pansy exhaled, unsteady.

Distantly, Hermione wondered if her words were a warning or a promise. 

“More?” she asked, frustrated when Pansy’s mouth moved from hers to trail down her neck.

“I can’t fuck you and leave,” she grated out, and a shiver ran through Hermione before she could stop it. 

“Pansy, I—” she tried, hands still coiled in her coat.

“I’ll want more,” Pansy repeated. 

“Pansy,” Hermione tried to buy herself time, trying to swim through the sea of her own longing, “we’ve been drinking, you don’t mean—”

“I can’t do it again,” Pansy insisted. “I thought I could. And I know I can’t ask that of you.”

Everything she said destabilized her. Hermione gripped her tightly, the loss of lips against hers deafening. Pansy’s arms were still around her but they were slowly loosening, pulling back. Hermione tried to find the words to stop her retreat but nothing seemed good enough.

“Stay,” she managed, a plea. 

But Pansy was already slipping from her grasp. Skin felt cold where her hands had warmed it, her eyes entreating Hermione to understand. She didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when the feel of Pansy pushed against her still felt real, when the taste of her still mixed with the bite of gin in her mouth. Pansy was murmuring an apology faster than Hermione could follow, too many steps between them now. She disapparated before Hermione could stop her.

Hermione gave herself a minute. She let the coolness of the night air leach through her coat, the sky now uncomfortably bright. Loss coursed through her and stung her eyes. She forced herself to fumble for her key, legs heavy as she made her way up the stairs and to Ginny’s door instead of her own.


	7. The Gathering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait between chapters! Sadly we're still in a pandemic hellscape and time means nothing so here we are :')

The haven of Ginny’s flat was a balm to her feverish skin. She tried to crawl quietly past Ginny’s bedroom to her sofa, not wanting to wake her. It was the desire for company more than anything that kept her feet moving in the dark. But when her toe collided with the soft leather of a Cannon’s practice bag and sent it sprawling, Ginny’s face appeared through the door anyways, red hair a nest on the top of her head. 

“Sorry,” Hermione muttered.

Hermione let Ginny usher her into her room. “I thought you were Luna. She’s at her dad’s tonight.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ginny stifled a yawn. “Already up now. Plus, since you’re here, I’m guessing you’ve got something good.”

“Not good, exactly,” Hermione said.

“Very cryptic,” Ginny replied.

A mug of tea was pushed into Hermione’s hands soon after, the two of them cross-legged on the bed. Hermione dragged a thick quilt around her shoulders as Ginny, still plagued by sleep, listened while Hermione felt herself unravel. 

“I can’t believe she said that,” Ginny mumbled. “I can’t believe any of it, really.”

“I couldn’t either.”

“And were you?” Ginny asked, “Going to invite her up, I mean.”

Hermione grimaced. “I didn’t have the chance to even think about. We were just…there.”

Ginny stared at her through the darkness for a moment. Hermione peered back. “Why’re you smiling?”

“I think she wants you,” Ginny said.

Hermione answered with a nervous laugh. She still felt a little hazy, her head spinning. 

“She said she couldn’t do it again though.”

Ginny let out her breath in a slow exhale. “I guess that’s one takeaway. But my point still stands.”

Hermione worried the edge of her jumper. She wanted to cling to what Ginny had said, to bury why Pansy had left. The understanding that Pansy wanted her too spread warmth through her body, almost eclipsing the ache that took its place when Pansy’s face had twisted in regret and pushed her away. 

“Gin, Luna told you…she told you, right?” Hermione asked. She listened as Ginny shifted against the bed, taking her time in replying. Hermione started again before Ginny could open her mouth. “I mean, I know that you…that you know. But I guess, how much do you…know?”

“Luna told me,” Ginny said. 

Hermione nodded. Luna had been there, of course – hiding away at Shell Cottage with the rest of them. But she didn’t have many memories of Luna there. She did remember Luna and Dean often sitting close on the couch, their faces drawn but hopeful. She remembered Luna’s hand coming to rest on her arm occasionally, stopping her in the hall as Hermione moved from one room to the next. She knew Luna had seen her and Pansy together. She assumed Luna had told Ginny soon after it happened. A year after the final battle, Hermione had even told Ginny herself. It was another night she had crawled into Ginny’s bed, desperate to escape the images that pushed past her nightly ritual of Dreamless Sleep. She had confided in Ginny’s sleeping form, whispered about what had taken place to the backdrop of Ginny’s even breaths. 

“I’m sorry that we’ve never spoken about it,” Hermione murmured. 

“I figured we would when you were ready.”

Hermione reached for Ginny’s hand and grabbed it lightly, letting it fall back into her lap a moment later, her throat tight. 

“She is fit,” Ginny finally said aloud. “The uniform works for her.”

The two of them erupted in barely muffled laughs, and Hermione let the anxious energy in her chest loosen as she allowed herself a moment. Their heads were close together, and it reminded her of nights at the Burrow when she’d creep into Ginny’s room so they could talk, trying to keep their laughter down so Percy didn’t rat them out to Molly in the morning. 

“She’s got a bit of a glare though,” Ginny added. “Kind of scary, actually.”

Hermione dropped her face into her hands, voice stifled as she spoke. “Trust me, Gin, I know. I’m just…glad she’s staying on the case.” 

“Right,” Ginny nodded, “that too.” Then after a moment, “What’re you going to do?”

Hermione sprawled against the bed, pulling the blanket tighter to her chest. “I’m working through it. It’s a lot all at once.”

Ginny flopped down beside her. “Is it? You’ve been pining over her for weeks now.”

“Well, that’s not exactly—” Hermione started.

“Years, maybe,” Ginny added quietly. 

Hermione’s stomach coiled. “That’s not fair, Gin.” 

She felt Ginny’s shrug beside her.

“Maybe don’t push anything for a little while. See what happens.”

“Yeah, alright,” Hermione said.

Ginny fell into sleep soon after. Hermione was restless, listening to Ginny’s deepening breaths. She tried to drag herself into sleep but couldn’t. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Didn’t know how to face Pansy at work the next day, how to work alongside her after something like this. 

When morning broke, Hermione had the semblance of a plan worked out. 

She found Ginny in the kitchen, coffee bubbling noisily beside her as she waited. 

“Feeling alright?” Ginny asked.

Hermione stared down at her rumpled shirt, the fabric still doused in the smell of alcohol and warm bodies from the night before. 

“Never better.”

Ginny nodded, rubbing at her eye. She was already halfway dressed in her training uniform. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll be here later if you need.”

Hermione gathered the rest of her discarded clothes and made her way back to her own apartment, letting Crookshanks weave between her legs and mewl at her return. 

-

The plan she locked into place the morning she left Ginny’s was slowing coming to fruition. Maybe not as fast as she’d like, but it was coming. The return to work had been uncomfortable, though it was the type of uncomfortability Hermione had grown used to when working with Pansy. At first, Pansy had mostly ignored her. She’d thank her for her coffee in the morning and then she was gone, a silent figure constantly in and out of the back office. Hermione tried to keep her eyes from catching the tension in Pansy’s knuckles, tried to stop her gaze from lingering on her back when she left. On days when Harry needed her in the field, Hermione spent quiet days researching with Draco. 

“I’m not going to ask,” Draco announced a week into their new stoic routine, “but I don’t like this.” His hands swept around the room, gesturing towards Hermione and back. She opened her mouth to respond but his eyes rolled to the ceiling first.

“You don’t have to tell me, I’m just…letting you know.”

Two more weeks passed until she felt a shift. Pansy stayed longer in their shared office, Draco was able to coax more out of her than just case facts, and she held Hermione’s eyes when they spoke. By the fourth week, Pansy had practically returned to their shared space.

On Friday morning, exactly a month after Hermione cornered Pansy at the Leaky, Hermione was waiting for her. Perched on the edge of the desk, she held out a cup.

“Last one,” she said, a smile on her lips. 

Pansy seemed startled to find her there. She took a minute to take Hermione in, her mouth tugging into a reluctant grin.

“A month already?” 

“A whole month,” Hermione confirmed. “Enjoy this one, the handouts stop today.”

Pansy grabbed the coffee from her hands and dipped her head in thanks. Hermione tried not to stare at the place their hands had met, Pansy’s smile warming the centre of her chest. When she turned to go, Hermione hesitated before calling out.

“Glad you stayed, Parkinson?”

Pansy bit out a laugh, dark hair brushing her neck as she glanced back. “Don’t push it, Granger.”

When Draco found Hermione smiling to herself an hour later at her desk, he eyed her suspiciously.

“Why’re you grinning like a madwoman?” 

“Nothing,” Hermione said, “just having an alright day, I suppose.”

“Well…good.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “it is good.”

“You make me nervous when you’re like this,” Draco muttered. 

Hermione flashed her teeth at him, leaning back in her chair as she pulled her curls into a large bun on the top of her head. Draco’s eyes followed her movements and he sighed. A few beats of silence passed before he spoke. 

“Granger, I’ve got something to ask you.” His nails tapped quietly against wood as Hermione nodded.

“Have at it, Malfoy.”

“It’s my birthday next week.”

Hermione paused, hands dropping from her hair. “Er, happy early birthday, then.”

Draco stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “No, that’s not even a question, Granger. I…I’m inviting you to a small gathering I’m hosting.”

“Like a birthday party?” Hermione asked, staring at Draco like he had just grown horns.

“Birthday gathering,” Draco corrected, but Hermione caught the flush of red against his cheekbones. 

Hermione stared for another moment before answering. “And you’d like…me to come?”

Draco scoffed. “I think I made that clear already.”

“Well, with that attitude—”

“It’s next Saturday,” Draco cut in. “Potter…Potter’s coming. And I’d like it if you were there also.”

Hermione fidgeted in her seat. The idea of surrounding herself with a room of Draco’s friends sent a hook of fear straight into her gut. But if Harry was going, how could she not? She nodded slowly as Draco waited for her answer, his jaw tense. He looked like he was waiting for her to say no, but Hermione sensed the nerves just beneath his façade. 

“I’ll come.”

Draco jerked his head in response. “Good.” 

“Is it at your home?” Hermione asked, suddenly curious. When Draco nodded, the corner of her mouth curved.

“Can’t wait to dig through your stuff after I excuse myself to use the loo,” she teased.

“Insufferable,” Draco muttered, but his shoulders lost some of their tension.

“Wear something nice,” he added, eyes dragging over her clothes.

“Not interesting in impressing you, Malfoy, we’ve been over this.”

It was Draco’s turn to grin. “Pansy will be there.”

Hermione stilled. “My statement still stands.”

“Sure, Granger.”

-

Hermione talked herself out of going countless times over the next week. Anxiety gripped her chest when she thought about it too much, before she could shake it off and scold herself for getting in her own head. Ginny was the one who eventually convinced her she had to go. She wanted a full report of what Draco’s place looked like, of who was going to be there, of what he served. 

“Gin, I’m hardly worried about the food,” Hermione said on the night of the party. Ginny was in her room, Crookshanks curled in her arms, orange cat fur sticking out of her sweater. 

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Ginny asked.

“Don’t get me started on that.”

“Well,” Ginny tried again, “you can always go for an hour or two and leave. Plus, people from your department might be there. A few Slytherins, sure, but the Patil twins might go.”

Hermione tugged at the hem of her dress. “Not helping, Gin.” 

“Okay, but that dress needs to be seen. Air it out for a little while then come home.”

“It is nice,” Hermione murmured, running her fingers over the soft olive-green fabric. 

“It’s perfect,” Ginny added.

Hermione shot her a grateful look. It was a dress she had bought months ago on a whim, liking the way the fabric slipped over her hips, hugging at her waist. She stared at her reflection as her fingers quickly wove through her hair, pulling it into a thick braid before shrugging on a coat.

“Guess there’s no excuse now.”

Ginny deposited Crookshanks on the sofa before standing beside Hermione, squeezing the tops of her shoulders gently. 

“Have fun, alright? It’s a party after all—gathering—whatever the hell Malfoy called it. And…keep an eye out for Harry.”

“I will,” Hermione said.

Ginny chewed on the edge of her lip before stepping back. “He’ll tell us soon, won’t he? About Draco and him?”

“Of course, Gin,” Hermione insisted, sounding more convinced than she felt. “I don’t know if he’s told anyone, really.”

“But Draco must have told some of his friends? Since he’s going tonight?” Ginny pushed.

Hermione shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out. I haven’t had time to ask Harry about it. But he seems…he seems happy, you know? He’ll tell everyone when he’s ready.”

Ginny smiled half-heartedly and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, as always. Just remember everything you see tonight and report back.”

-

It was dark by the time Hermione apparated to Draco’s home on the outskirts of London. Silhouettes in the front window were visible from the street of his brick terraced house, the last one on the row. Hermione quickly ran her hands down her dress before she knocked. 

Pansy swung the door open, hand braced against the side as her eyes swept over Hermione.

“Granger, I’m shocked you weren’t the first one here.”

Hermione paused two beats, staring at the sheer black of Pansy’s blouse, skimming across the high slit in her skirt, eyes faltering when she caught the red flush of wine on her mouth. 

Pansy cleared her throat and Hermione tried to say something witty but instead said, “This is for Draco,” holding out a clear bottle of nettle wine.

“He’s in the kitchen,” Pansy said as she grabbed the bottle and opened the door wider. “I’ll show you in.”

Hermione followed Pansy towards the sound of growing voice and took the opportunity to catalogue Draco’s place. It was unsurprisingly minimal, with large striking paintings on otherwise bare walls and rich velvet sofas tucked between carefully placed plants. 

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione commented, admiring the nineteenth-century crown molding framing Draco’s sitting room.

Pansy glanced behind her and smiled. “Draco spent a lot of time fixing this place up.”

Hermione tried to wrap her head around the thought of Draco fixing up anything when she realized she hadn’t spotted a single personal item so far. Not a photo, or a book discarded on a side table. She wondered if he had a tea cosy or a photo album stuffed away somewhere. 

“Granger!” Draco called, as Pansy deposited her in front of a slightly drunk Draco. 

“Happy birthday,” Hermione said brightly, avoiding the stares of the two men on either side of him.

Draco leaned forward and brushed his lips against Hermione’s cheek in greeting, smelling faintly of alcohol and rose oil. 

“Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Hermione breathed, pulling back.

Draco pointed to the towering blonde man on his left. “You remember Nott,” he said, before nodding to his right towards a man with an intense gaze and heavy brow. “And Zabini, of course.”

“Good to see you both again,” she said, recognizing them the moment she met their stares. She had seen Theo Nott in the papers a few times, mostly articles on his latest magical device inventions. Blaise Zabini occasionally graced the pages of Witch Weekly, along with a vague feature on his business endeavours—all thinly veiled excuses just to have his face in print. She felt their scrutinising gazes take her in—her hair, her dress, her short heels—and instantly she was fifteen again, hating how small she felt, how much she felt like she didn’t belong in their world.

“Hermione Granger, all grown up,” Theo smiled, his face almost wolfish. 

“I work with Draco at the Ministry,” she added, feeling like her brain had just short-circuited.

“We know,” Blaise drawled, and she took in the familiar inscrutable stare reflected on his face that all Slytherin alumni had seemingly mastered.

“Er, right,” Hermione added, needing to fill the silence. 

“Nice shoes,” Theo chimed in.

Hermione’s eyes slid down to her shoes, suddenly wishing she had worn a taller heel so she was at least on eye level with the rest of them. She returned Theo’s stare and tried not to roll her eyes. Gods, they really hadn’t changed. 

“Leave her alone, T,” Pansy laughed, and Hermione wondered if there was a spell that would open up the ground below and swallow her whole.

“Here, I’ll show you the garden,” Pansy said, her hand coming down to rest lightly against Hermione’s lower back, steering her away from the group. Hermione forced herself to breathe normally, Pansy’s hand warm through the fabric of her dress.

“Thank you,” Hermione sighed, reaching out to grab a glass of white amongst a row of drinks waiting on the counter. “Always nice to reconnect,” she muttered into her glass.

“They’re arseholes, ignore them,” Pansy said.

“Aren’t they your friends?” Hermione asked, glancing up beside her, noticing how green Pansy’s eyes looked against her artfully smudged liner.

“They are, but they never learned manners. Can barely function around new people. They usually get better.”

“Something to look forward to,” Hermione said dryly. 

Pansy laughed in response, hand still against her back as she led Hermione into a narrow back garden. String lights hung low across the space with a soft glow, low seating placed among a sea of tall fruit trees, shrubs, and wildflowers in planters. Harry waved at her from across the garden and Hermione returned his grin with a surge of relief. A few other groups were gathered, and she thought she spotted a few aurors in the group.

Hermione moved to join Harry but paused and sent Pansy a smile. 

“The shoes look good on you, by the way,” Pansy said, and Hermione couldn’t stop the warmth that filled her chest instantly.

“Alright, Hermione?” Harry asked.

Hermione glanced around. “As good as I can be, I suppose. What’re you doing out here on your own?”

“Just needed a bit of fresh air.”

“It was Nott and Zabini, wasn’t it?” she asked.

Harry tipped his head back and blew out a breath. “Yeah, they can be a bit much. I think they feel just as uncomfortable with me being here as I do.”

“My plan to slip out in an hour still stands. You’re welcome to come.”

“Draco would kill me,” Harry laughed. “He’s already nervous about having everyone here tonight. Wouldn’t do that to him.”

Hermione nudged Harry with her shoulder and held back a smile at the soft look that took over Harry’s face whenever he mentioned Draco.

“Harry? Hermione?”

They both looked up and watched as Padma made her way over to them. 

“Padma, hi, did you just arrive?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t realize you’d both be here. It’s good to see you again, Harry. Hermione.”

Hermione did her best to look interested as Padma and Harry chatted about work. Every so often, she caught Padma sliding a cool gaze towards her. Hermione added just enough to the conversation to justify standing there, but she couldn’t bring herself to engage in small talk tonight. She almost sighed in relief when Pansy and Daphne Greengrass walked over.

“You all remember Daph,” Pansy nodded at Daphne. Hermione remembered her alright. 

“You’re working at St. Mungo’s now, aren’t you?” Harry held out his hand to shake Daphne’s, who seemed charmed Harry knew a detail about her life. 

Hermione’s attention shifted as Pansy leaned over her, wine bottle in hand. “Thought you could use this.”

“Definitely,” Hermione whispered, avoiding Padma’s gaze.

“Not sure how he does it,” Pansy said.

“Who, Harry?” 

Hermione watched as Harry engrossed both Padma and Daphne into a story about the last holiday he spent visiting Charlie in Romania.

“Easy to capture an audience when dragons are involved,” Hermione shrugged.

Pansy rolled her eyes and sipped from her glass. “No, you know what I mean. He’ll make a good department head. Would make a killer politician.”

“He’s too kind for that,” Hermione shook her head. 

“You, on the other hand,” Pansy tipped her glass towards Hermione, “will make an excellent politician one day.”

“Oh, hold on,” Hermione tried to keep a straight face, “what’re you saying exactly?”

Pansy smiled easily, emptying the last of her red wine. “You can be very convincing when you want. That’s a good thing, Granger.”

Hermione let herself laugh, relishing standing so close to Pansy again, drinking in the feel of her smile turned towards her. It felt good—felt normal, even. 

“I’m glad I’ve impressed you so much,” Hermione teased.

“You’ve always impressed me.”

Hermione’s mouth suddenly felt impossibly dry, unsure if she was imagining the look in Pansy’s eyes or if the wine was just working. But she was sure she hadn’t imagined the way Pansy’s gaze swept lazily down her body, lingering where fabric brushed the tops of her thighs, sending a final glance her way even as Padma touched her arm and pulled Pansy back into their conversation. 

“I’m just…water. Anyone else want water?” she asked. 

Without waiting for a reply, Hermione retreated back into Draco’s kitchen, feeling three sets of eyes burning a hole in her back.

Draco found her in the kitchen, pulling her into a long conversation with Zabini and a couple other friends that apparently worked with Blaise. She half-listened, feeling Pansy’s presence as she slipped in and out of the room, refilling glasses as she moved from group to group, playing the role of unofficial hostess. Hermione stilled when Pansy stopped between her and Draco, mouth close to her ear. Hermione tried not to breathe in too deeply. She hadn’t really seen this side of Pansy before. She seemed relaxed, like she was in her element. At work there was always a wall up, an air of professionalism that never really dropped. But here, in Draco’s home, she seemed happy.

Later on, when Draco drifted away and left Hermione alone with Blaise, she took the opportunity to excuse herself. She took her time wandering down Draco’s hallway as she searched for the loo, enjoying the moment of quiet. She tried the last door on the right, just as Daphne had told her it would be, and pushed open the door.

She saw the blonde head first, cradled in Harry’s hand as he pushed Draco against the opposite wall, knee pressed between his legs, the other hand disappearing under his shirt. 

“Shit, oh my gods, sorry,” she blurted, clambering to shut the door behind her. Muffled laughter erupted from behind the door and Hermione felt her face heat almost instantly. Embarrassed, she hurried back down the hall until she was far enough away that the sound of laughter disappeared. She was happy for Harry; happy he had carved out a space for Draco in his life. Maybe a little envious too. He made it look easy—opening himself up to someone and expecting the same level of vulnerability in return. Brave, she thought. The two of them seemed brave.

Hermione leaned her head against the wall, letting it cool her warm cheek. The sound of muted whispers coming from the room behind her buzzed in her ear and she moved to leave, not in the mood to interrupt another tryst. She straightened until she heard the unmistakable sound of her name.

“And Hermione, did you see…”

She paused, debating whether or not listening in was worth it. She almost left until Pansy’s name followed soon after. 

“I still can’t believe she came.”

Hermione quickly strained to hear, listening to what sounded like Padma’s voice.

“Why? Draco talks about her all the time. And you know how Pansy is around her.” 

Daphne maybe? She missed the next few sentences until she heard the unmistakable low timbre of Blaise’s voice.

“I don’t know why Pansy bothers. Does she realise how tragic it is watching her pander to Granger? The witch is just as tight-laced as she was in school.”

“She can’t help herself,” Padma sighed. “I don’t think she even really likes her, just can’t shake some latent unhealthy obsession with her. You know she almost didn’t take Potter’s offer because Granger worked there? Said she didn’t want to be around her.”

“Maybe she just needs one last lay to get her out of her system,” Daphne offered.

Blaise scoffed. “Gods, thanks for that image, Daph.”

“Let’s not encourage her,” Padma laughed. “Although I wouldn’t put it past Granger. Seems nice enough, but she couldn’t even manage to send Parvati a message back. You’d think after fucking your old dormmate, you’d at least have the decency to return a call? Not that she gave Pansy that honour last time.”

Hermione pushed away from her spot at the wall, head reeling. Soft expletives spilled from her lips as she tried to push down the lump rising in her throat, threatening to choke her. Arseholes, Pansy had said. She was right.


End file.
